Event Horizon Book 1: Autumn's Frontier
by Spartan-168-Django
Summary: The Realm is forever changed when a new player in the Game arrives: space explorers from future Earth, looking for a planet just ripe for colonization. But just what awaits the people of Earth here in the World of Ice and Fire? And how will their powerful technology and ideas transform Westeros, for better or worse? Let the adventure begin!
1. Jon 1

**_Foreword: _**_h__ere continues the series that began in my separate story **Event Horizon: Storm Of Magic - Prologue**, a reading of which is recommended (though not absolutely essential) in order to understand the greater universe within which this story takes place. But the basic premise is simple: in 2154, a space mission from Earth discovers four new habitable planets in the Epsilon Eridani System ... and one of these planets just so happens to be the World of Ice and Fire (combining elements of both the books and the HBO show ... since this story aims to parody both!). Prepare thyself, fair reader, for the adventure about to unfold..._

_**Acknowledgements**: I would like to take a moment to briefly thank all those who have taken their time to read and support this story, whether through inspiration, inputting creative ideas and suggestions, proofreading, or simply leaving a review in the reviews section. In particular, I would like to thank the following users at AlternateHistory dot com, the original home of this story: Corsair_Caruso, ZIM19, RosoMC, Teslacoil, WanderingWanderer, Silver, TheScottishMongol, Ridli Scott, Rostov, Darksnider05, Monty Burns, terranova210486, berat2beti, iddt3, Panica, ignuus66, Amras89, Coalition, meichiri, Wolf1965, Beer, and many, many others._

_**Disclaimer**: this is a noncommercial fan work meant as a light-hearted parody and transformative work of the original source material, and thus falling within the perimeters of current United States Fair Use Doctrine. Any other new characters or places are my own creation._

* * *

**Jon (I)**

_Winter is coming indeed_, thought Jon to himself as he accompanied his father and his half-brother Robb, riding along the slow winding trail through the Wolfswood.

Another late summer snow had fallen last night, blanketing the land in a thin layer of fluff – most of it had melted as soon as the sun had shone its face upon the land, reducing the Kingsroad … or at least what passed for the Kingsroad in this parts … to little more than a canal of mud and horseshit. Summer snow showers were a common occurrence up North, but their increasing frequency over the last few months could point at only one thing: this summer, the longest one in living memory, was finally coming to an end.

Riding alongside the Lord of Winterfell and his two sons were Ser Rodrik Cassell, loyal as always to his liege lord, as well as Lord Stark's ward, the Kraken's boy Theon of the House of Greyjoy, and five loyal household bannermen of the Starks serving as their honor guard, including Alyn, Cayn, Porther, Varly, and ol' Fat Tomard. And, of course, running and playing alongside the horses came the direwolves Grey Wind and Ghost. They were still technically pups, found barely over a month ago, but they were growing fast, and now keep pace with the steady march of the destriers.

Jon had only known the life of a bastard, and all the prejudice that entailed. But even he took pride in his heritage, and always looked up to his father with the deepest of respect and admiration. Jon may not have shared Lord Stark's name, but he shared his blood. And right now, Jon could not help but admit to himself that the Lord Of Winterfell and his loyal bannermen, astride their mighty destriers – they certainly made for a magnificent show of honor, dignity, and silent stoicism against the bleak and grey backdrop of the land.

It was often easy for people to forget that the North was easily as large as the other Six Kingdoms put together, yet with an entire population barely larger than any of the others. After Winter's Town, the men had to ride for over three days before meeting the next village. As it was, Lord Stark and his wards had been following the Kingsroad north of Winterfell for the last couple of days. The purpose of their little ranging had been, on the surface, to reconnoiter the lands around the Wolfswood for the perfect hunting grounds for when His Grace King Robert, First Of His Name, and his royal court would arrive in Winterfell next month.

But implicitly, Jon knew that Lord Stark had other reasons as well for wanting to increase the frequency of his patrols and inspections of the countryside. Just over a month ago, the day that they had first found the direwolves, the Warden Of The North had beheaded a deserter of the Brotherhood Of The Night's Watch. There had always had been deserters for as long as there had been the Watch. But now sworn brothers were forsaking their oaths far more than usual, and this last one in particular had had a chilling tale to tell. Others? Could it be true? No one had seen an Other for thousands of years! But then, so too had no living soul ever seen a direwolf until just over a month ago…

As the sun neared the high point of this otherwise grim and grey day, the party of two-and-ten finally arrived at the first village they had seen in the last couple of days. As they drew closer, the villagers recognized the direwolf banner the party bore, and immediately discarded their activities to come out and greet their liege lord. Being so close to Winterfell, Lord Stark had visited this crofter's village on numerous occasions, and the smallfolk here had almost come to love and regard the honorable lord with the same familiarity and affection that they would for a brother (well, in the North at least. Jon wasn't so sure if people treated their brothers with familiarity and affection anywhere _else_ in the Seven Kingdoms, at least not from how he'd heard his father describe the rest of Westeros).

As Lord Stark and his wards and bannermen dismounted, Jon saw the head crofter of the village come up and bend the knee in humble greeting to his liege lord. "M'lord Stark", he began, "'tis an honor. What bringeth thee to our little neck o' the 'Wood?"

"I bid thee greetings from Winterfell", began the Warden Of The North. "My men and I have come here to survey the land in preparation for the arrival of His Grace, King Robert of the House Baratheon, First Of His Name".

"Aye, so I've heard", replied the crofter. "M'lord, t'would be our honor to host the King upon our humble lands".

"Tell me", said Lord Stark, "what news is there of late that I should be aware of?"

"M'lord", said the crofter, "the snows are returning and the days grow colder. Winter is coming, and we begin preparing the best we can. But, m'lord, there is one thing that would perhaps whet thy interest. Two nights ago, I was awoken by my youngest son, who'd 'ad troubles getting to sleep. At first, I scolded the young lad for his disturbance. But then he showed me what it was that had caught his attention".

Jon could see from the look on the face of the crofter, and of those gathered near to him who must have been his close family, that they had seen something that had disturbed them. Lord Eddard kept himself composed, but he too seemed rather apprehensive to what he was about to hear.

"M'lord. It appears that a … a comet fell from the skies and, eh, came to rest somewhere in the Wolfswood north of here, in the direction of the Wall".

"A comet?"

"Yes, m'lord, I swear on the Old Gods and the New. T'was a blue star that left a bright stream of light across the sky and came to rest somewhere yonder. And then last night, there was a light in the 'Wood, like the glow that comes from a wildfire yet many miles away. I'd say perhaps two or three days north o' here. T'was a white light, unlike any fire I'd ever seen".

"Are you perhaps telling me", said Lord Eddard, "that this falling star of yours … landed in the Wolfswood? And that it … eh, continues to burn?"

"M'lord, let the Old Gods be my witness. We saw what we saw. If the light in the 'Wood appears again tonight, I will show you myself."

"Fear not, for I believe your word", replied Lord Stark, "but what do you make of it?"

"I know not, m'lord. We are but humble crofters. Perhaps, m'lord, you would know a maester learned in the workings o' this world and o' the heavens".

The discourse continued for another few minutes. Lord Stark heard the voices of the villagers and answered in return. Most of the smallfolk had the usual things to report: the weather, crops, village festivities, and the like. But the topic of the crofter's comet remained at the forefront of everyone's curiosity.

"Others, Direwolves, and now a falling star" remarked Lord Eddard as he and his bannermen remounted their destriers. "Sometimes I wonder if the Old Gods have something greater in store for us."

"Father", spoke up Robb, "we must go investigate! If it is indeed the Old Gods, or the New, then it must be something important for us to know."

"Seconded!" said Theon.

"I say we return to Winterfell and wait to see what happens before we do so", said Ser Rodrik, "there is no need to rush headfirst into things."

For a moment, Lord Stark contemplated these options raised to him. And then, he turned to Jon.

"And you, Jon? What have you to say on the matter?"

Jon was honored to have his opinion called upon, but he also knew that whatever he said next could change things for better or for worse. He looked at his half-brother Robb and at Theon, at Ser Rodrik and other bannermen, and then finally, he gazed down at Ghost and Grey Wind, who had suddenly stopped playing around and had become attentive, as if they too expected an answer from him. At last, he spoke.

"Lord Stark", began Jon, "I agree that we should exercise caution. But if we wait too long, whatever it is the old crofter saw may, eh, disappear. My Lord, a month ago, it was fate that brought the direwolves to us. Perhaps this falling star is no different."

"Thank you Jon for your honest opinion", said Lord Eddard, after which he turned and addressed everyone: "it is decided then. We shall ride at once and search for this 'comet'. It may take us a day or so to find it, but when we do, I want you all prepared for whatever it is the Old Gods have in store for us. To the North!"

And with that, Lord Eddard Stark, Lord Of Winterfell, Warden of the Kingdom of the North to His Grace King Robert Baratheon, First of his Name … set off towards the Wolfswood. For better or for worse, Jon had an uneasy feeling that whatever it was that awaited them, The North would never be the same again.

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_**Footnotes**: and thus we begin the adventure. Welcome aboard, fair reader; I hope that the rest of this story proves to be a blast (in more ways than just one), and I encourage you all to leave your reviews, as we writers always hunger for feedback!_


	2. Fred 1

**Main Compound – New Colony of "Autumn's Frontier"**  
**Northern Sector, Western Continent**  
**Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4**

**October 06, 2154 C.E.**

"Out of the way! GET OUT OF MY WAY!" shouted Frederick Kovacs over the loudspeakers.

Fred was currently strapped into the driver's seat of one of The Company™'s HULK-class Mk III forklift utility exoskeletons, at work unloading containers from the shuttle. Even a colony-level manager like him enjoyed nothing more than piloting one of those babies occasionally – the feeling of raw power and mechanical might that came from being at the helm of a 16-foot hydraulic-powered steel body – it just felt awesome sometimes!

At this moment in time, Fred was engaged in pushing each eight-ton container out through the rear cargo doors of Valkyrie 04 (Valkyrie 02 had left two days ago, and 04 had arrived last night bringing in additional supplies from the starship _UNSV Belo Horizonte_ in orbit). Each of the Valkyrie shuttles, jumbo jet-sized as they were, could carry enough shipping containers and prefabs in one flight that the expedition already had a small village… if a village were made of shipping containers and prefabs, that is. Even with the help of two HULK units, it still took almost an entire day to unload every last container.

Autumn's Frontier, as they had chosen to name the colony after a vote, was starting to take shape after three days, though most of the staff still had to sleep in tents. The Colonial Marines of Fireteam Alpha had already been out scouting the surrounding area and setting up all the security measures – long range infrared scanners and motion trackers to detect anything moving within miles of the base, as well as the LED floodlights to keep the base brightly lit up at night, and about a dozen automated sentry turrets.

Meanwhile, the geological team was already out surveying the land and laying out plans for the mining operation that, with luck, would commence tomorrow. Fred had been told that this area sat on top of a massive deposit of platinum-group metals, which was partly why it had been chosen. Indeed, orbital scans had shown that the entire northern half of the continent was incredibly rich in minerals – iridium, palladium, yttrium, uranium … in addition to the more 'conventional minerals' like iron, aluminum, and titanium, as well as copious amounts of fossil fuels, nitratine, and potash, all of which would prove essential for any start-up colony.

However, due to what must have been a hostile climate to a people who lacked such things as central heating and modern agricultural practices, it was no surprise that the North was so sparsely populated. In any case, most of these minerals were absolutely meaningless to a Medieval society (even if they had possessed the necessary extraction technology), so the region's relative poverty was understandable.

Nonetheless, it was the perfect place for The Company™ to set up shop, relatively isolated, yet close enough ("only" about 140 miles or so) to trade with the indigenous population. Yes, their long-term goals would be to settle the warmer, more Mediterranean regions of the planet, in the hopes of drawing much of Earth's surplus population. But in the meantime, to have a profitable mining venture and trading post up and running would hopefully suffice by the time the starship _UNSV Joseph Conrad_ arrived in nine month's time bringing additional colonists and personnel from Earth.

With a final heave, Fred pushed the container clear of the Valkyrie's cargo doors. _Great_, though Fred to himself, _just nine more to go_. It was then that he was interrupted by a voice calling him over the radio.

"Mr. Kovacs!" said Private Faryd Khedira, the Colonial Marine detachment's electronics warfare expert.

"What is it?" said Fred.

"Sir, you might want to come and take a look at this."

"It better be damn important!" said Fred. Powering down the mech, Fred quickly climbed out and left one of the site foremen in charge, and then strode off to the prefab unit that was currently serving as the colony's armory and command headquarters.

Inside the armory, he found Sergeant Hawthorne, Private Khedira, as well as his assistant Daniel Zimmerman, Chief Engineer Kelsey Trevino, and Engineers Niall Donnelly and Kelly Adams, all gathered around a monitor. Apparently, the motion trackers had picked something up.

"Looks like we got a welcoming committee," remarked the Sarge, "party of around ten people, all on horseback, about a dozen klicks south of our position."

"Do we have a visual?" said Fred.

"No sir, but we can deploy one of the aerial drones if you like," said Khedira.

"That's fine, don't bother. I'll go myself to greet 'em." Fred got up. "Well, I guess the locals were bound to find us sooner or later, eh?"

"Well, sir, to be fair, the plasma contrails from the Valkyrie's engines can be seen for hundreds of miles in every which way," said Daniel, "these guys probably saw us landing and thought they'd make their way here and check it out. For all I know, 'falling from the sky' and what not, we must be practically angels to them. Or demons."

"I'll assemble the troops then," said Sergeant Hawthorne, "shall we roll out the Wild Cats as well?"

"Nah, better to hoof it this first time," said Fred, "no need to scare the locals with our vehicles just yet."

Fred quickly took off his florescent yellow worker's safety vest and instead donned one of the heavy ballistics armor vests, painted in a woodland camouflage pattern, that the Marines had lent to him. By the time he was done, Sgt. Hawthorne had already called in all the rest of his fireteam. All nine of them were clad head-to-toe in their Mk.7 Ballistics Armor (standard issue for the Colonial Marines) and toting AR-27 "Stacker" Assault Rifles, except for Private Isabel "Izzy" Rodriguez, the squad's heavy weapons expert; she was carrying an "Avenger" SAW machine gun, which was so heavy, it needed to be partly supported by special harness she wore on her waist. Well, if they were going to be meeting actual knights-in-shining-armor, might as well dress up for the occasion, right?

"Listen up!" barked the Sergeant, "we've got a First Contact scenario here! I don't think they're hostile, but I want you all on full alert just in case. They speak English, but keep your translators on all the same. Billings! Blaskowitz! You'll come with me; we'll be guarding Misters Kovacs and Zimmerman. Rodriguez! I want you to hang back just behind us and set up a firing position - just in case things turn south and we end up needing some cover fire. Elway! You'll be Rodriguez's spotter. The rest of you will stay back here and guard the base, but have the Cats ready to roll out just in case we end up needing a hasty extraction. Alright, move out!"

"Alright guys!" said Fred, excitedly, "let's go meet the neighbors!"

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_**Footnotes**: _

_1\. Thank you readers for choosing to be part of the great adventure. What will happen next? How will "First Contact" between the people of Earth and Westeros play out? Stay tuned to find out, and be sure to leave your reviews!_

_2\. Fred Kovacs is a character who will hopefully be interesting, if not certainly divisive, to the readership in subsequent chapters. But, I think it's best to get it out of the way first that this is a character whom I was heavily inspired in the creation and design thereof on several roles performed by the actor CHRIS PRATT, particularly in terms of appearance, voice, and casual attitude._


	3. Eddard 1

**Eddard (I)**

The Lord of Winterfell and his company had been traversing the Wolfswood for two days now. Sure enough, just as the old crofter had said, at night, there would shine a brilliant white light in the distance, at roughly the place where Ned imagined that the star must have fallen. The previous night, another blue comet had appeared, this time closer, and accompanied by a distant roar like that of the fiercest of storms that cracked and pounded against the walls of Storm's End.

The sight and sound of this comet had deeply unsettled the men and their horses. Ned had to admit to himself that he too was shaken by the sight, but he knew the men looked up to him for guidance, and could not afford to show weakness now. He had committed his honor to solving this mystery, and he simply could not turn back now, not after having come so far.

"Anyone who wishes to return to Winterfell now may do so with their honor intact," he had said last night, "but I intend to reach the bottom of this mystery, and I will proceed alone if I must." Sure enough, though Ser Rodrik and Ol' Fat Tom and the others had voiced strong concern over proceeding further, their loyalty to Ned was stronger still. It gave Ned some small measure of comfort to know that whatever they would find, be it the Others or the Old Gods or something else entirely, he at least had the company of men he could entrust his life to…

"_HALT!_ WHO GOES THERE?"

The shout that reverberated through the trees spoke in clear Common Tongue, but in no accent Ned had ever heard. The party immediately came to a halt and drew their swords. Even the direwolf pups Grey Wind and Ghost paused, and seemed to look to their masters for guidance on what to do next.

Whatever was afoot, Ned intended to resolve this matter with no bloodshed, but even he found comfort and reassurance in placing a hand upon the pommel of Ice, the mighty Valyrian Greatsword that had been passed down from generation to generation of the Stark Family. He called out, clearly and concisely: "I am Lord Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North to His Grace King Robert of House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm upon which you now stand. In the name of the King, I command thee to show thyself!"

A group of men emerged from the trees some distance away, dressed in some of the most bizarre outfits Ned had ever seen. Over the years, Ned had traveled the length and breadth of the Seven Kingdoms, and had seen all manner of vestiments, including the most ostentatious and garish clothes of Essos that one could find in the bustling markets of King's Landing or White Harbor, or in the lavish wardrobes of the old Targaryen Dynasty. But what was so bizarre about these foreigners was that the clothing they wore was the complete opposite: so simple and functional in form, so drab and unappealing in color, and yet Ned could see from the way these men carried themselves that they were not of the humble smallfolk stock.

Of the men, Ned could see that all were clad in some kind of knightly plate that had been painted in the colors and patterns of the forest, as if intending to hide among the foliage, like hunters stalking a deer. This struck Ned as particularly strange, as the chivalrous and knightly classes of the Realm usually never fought from such concealed positions - only hunters, bandits, and disreputable Essosi sellswords usually resorted to such practices. Stranger still were the weapons they brandished – or at least what Lord Eddard identified to be weapons, based on the way these sellsword knights carried and presented them. But if they were indeed weapons, they were unlike any Ned have ever seen – like a crossbow, but made entirely of iron, and lacking any visible bowing mechanism so to speak. But the Lord of Winterfell was a seasoned fighter and tactician, and he knew that it was often the unseen aspects of a weapon that were far more dangerous than the visible ones.

All of the group of strangers wore steel helms upon their heads, like knights, save for the fact that these were unadorned. These men at arms bore no sigil at all, but they did have a number painted onto each of their pauldrons. Only two of the men did not wear helmets – Ned reasoned from the way they carried themselves differently from the others, that they were not warriors, but instead perhaps performed a mercantile or clerical role within their company. One of these men carried an ornately crafted metallic box in his hands. The other, the more forward of the two, and arguably the leader, stepped forward and spoke.

"My name is Frederick Kovacs, and I represent a … _trading Company_ that has come from far away – _far, far away_, so to speak. But fear not, Lord Eddard of Stark, for we come in peace and mean no harm to you or to any of your company."

Ned was confused. _Foreigners? From whence had they come? From Beyond The Wall? Were these wildlings he was speaking to?_ They seemed far too civilized in their behavior and conduct and grasp of the Common Tongue. _Had they come from across the Narrow Sea, from Essos?_ That could be it, though how in Seven Hells the Braavosi or the Pentosi could have sent a trading company so deep into the North with no one seeing them was beyond Lord Eddard's comprehension.

_Or perhaps, had they come from the opposite direction, from across the Sunset Sea?_ Not even the Iron Islanders had ever dared to see what lands lay beyond. Ned found himself looking at Theon, almost half-expecting an answer from the Old Kraken's son, but Theon was just as much as a loss as Ned.

"I don't like it at all, my Lord," muttered Ser Rodrik, "this foreigner speaks the Common Tongue in no accent I have ever heard. He comes from afar and yet behaves like this is his land, and addresses you accordingly!"

"My lord," said Theon, pulling an arrow from his quiver, "there's five of them and ten of us! Just give me the order and I can run them down at least two of them before they have any chance to use their crossbows!"

"And how do you know there aren't more of them concealed in the woods?" said the Lord of Winterfell, "let me handle this." Ned turned back to address the one who had identified himself as their leader: "Tell me, Lord Frederick of the House of Kovacs, from whence have you come, and what order of business brings you into the realm of His Grace King Robert of House Baratheon, First of His Name?"

"First of all," began the merchant, "we would like to apologize as we did not know nor intend to trespass upon the lands of your King. We came as humble merchants and explorers from a land you have never heard of, that lies further than you could have ever have imagined. But our intentions are peaceful, and with regard to our aims, well, I would like to show you."

"I thank you, Lord Frederick, but we came here seeking an answer. Four nights ago, a comet was seen falling from the skies and landing in this vicinity. I don't presume that you would know something about that which I speak of?"

"A comet?" remarked Lord Frederick, half-smiling. "Well, if you wish to put it that way, yes. And if you would like to see this 'comet' for yourself, I will happily show you. Our camp is not too far from here."

"I am appreciate of your offer of hospitality, Lord Frederick," said Ned, "but before I accept, I need you to swear, on your honor and to your Gods, that you can guarantee that no harm will come to me or to my men for the duration that we are under your protection."

"I understand your apprehension, Lord Eddard," replied the merchant called Frederick, "but I assure you that our intentions are non-violent. In fact, if you would permit us to, we would like to negotiate a trade deal that would be of great mutual benefit to both of our parties. But first, I would like to show you our purposes here in your realm."

"I do not trust these men. It could be a trap, my liege," muttered Ser Rodrik, "he may claim to come from afar, but in the way he behaves, he reminds me of a conniving Lannister."

"These men have invited us and promised us safe passage. We are protected under the laws and customs of guest right," said Ned, though he quickly added, "but just in case, well, I am entrusting my safety and well-being to your capable hands, Ser Rodrik. Come, let us not keep these visitors to our realm waiting."

As Ned rode up to formally greet Lord Frederick, he saw the merchant prince turn to face the man with the metallic box (whom Ned reasoned by now must have been his steward) and heard him say: "did you get all of that, Daniel? Good. Keep the camera running, you're shooting the video of a lifetime!" _A camera?_ thought Ned, _shooting a video? _Whatever that meant, Ned had the uncomfortable realization that he was only seeing the tip of the iceberg of a whole new world of wonders and dangers that would shake the realm to its core in a manner not seen since Aegon Targaryen and his dragons first made landfall upon the shores of the Crownlands, all those centuries ago…


	4. Jonathan 1

**Main Compound – New Colony of "Beautiful Horizon"**

**Western Coast of the Main Continent  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet Epsilon Eridani EE-L5**

**October 06, 2154 C.E.**

_God, it feels great to be planetside once again_, thought Director Jonathan P. Teller as he sat back in his deck chair, a cold beer in this right hand. The golden light of the sun setting on the ocean to the west was a simply breathtaking, like something out of, why, a_ New Zealand tourism commercial!_ Come to think of it, this was probably the first time since they had left Earth, six months ago, that Teller finally had a moment to relax.

The last three days had seen a flurry of activity, every day's itinerary jam-packed from dawn, up 'til late into the night. The good news, at least, was that things were progressing exactly on schedule. Valkyries 01 and 02 had arrived and had been completely unloaded; the Marines had established a defensive perimeter; and the central command headquarters of the new colony was starting to take shape, assembled as it were from prefabricated units. Give it another couple days and shuttle drops, and the fabrication plant could commence operation.

Of the four habitable worlds found in the star system, EE-L5 was by far the least populated, with upper estimates based on the satellite scans maxing out at no more than 25 million at most. This meant, of course, that it had been relatively easy to set up this colony in peace, on this relatively empty stretch of prime coastal real estate. Nevertheless, because of this, it had been decided early on that L5's sparse population would make it one of the priority candidates for concentrating colonization efforts on this world in particular. That, and, to be honest, Teller didn't exactly trust leaving neither the first nor the second most important colony in the system to Fred (no offense to him).

Thus, while the L0 and L4 colonies would be more focused on mineral extraction and industrial production, with L0 in particular based on the study of this "magic" phenomenon (which the science team were now officially calling "thaumaturgy"), the colony of Beautiful Horizon (as they had voted to name it) here on EE-L5 would be focused primarily on agriculture, smaller-scale industry, and future residential and tourism functions as well. Meanwhile, the _UNSV Belo Horizonte_ had since moved on and was now in orbit over EE-L0. Directors Django Lombardi and Akane Saito were still aboard; they had requested, and Teller had agreed, that they wait a few weeks or so and observe the planet for a bit before making landfall. Given that L0 was indeed the largest, most populated, the most "thaumically active", and also the most potentially dangerous planet in the system, their caution seemed reasonable, even if every day they didn't have a colony up and running was costing The Company™ valuable time and money.

And then there was the news that just came in that the fourth world, Planet EE-L3, located on the other side of the star (and named as such because it was on Planet EE-L0's Lagrangian L3 point) was also now confirmed by their forward probes to be inhabited by humans. Truth be told, this news didn't really shock anyone so much anymore, because with three out of four worlds already found to be inhabited by humans, it was only natural to suspect that the fourth one would have them too. What was surprising though was that the humans they found here were a lot different from any of the other planets, both culturally and technologically too. All the same, however, it had been decided that with resources already stretched as they were between L0, L4, and L5, no missions to L3 would be made until once the _UNSV Joseph Conrad_ arrived bringing additional supplies and personnel from Earth.

In fact, come to think of it, each of the worlds in the system presented its own unique geographical, anthropological, ecological, and now thaumaturgical features too, and thus with it, its own unique set of challenges. EE-L5 was no different. Even before they had made planetfall, the forward recon probes had identified at least several different humanoid species on this planet that looked like damn dwarves, elves, and some real frikkin' ugly orcs and trolls (yes, could you believe it? Just like something out of one of those classic fantasy books by German writer J.R. von Tolkynen), as well as a miniature humanoid species that the folks over in the bio unit were pretty certain was an off-shoot of this planet's own strain of _Homo sapiens_...

_Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzz._

Teller heard his MyPhone ringing and picked it up (cell phone service being such a basic necessity for life, that was one of the first amenities set up at the colony, right on Day One). He could see his assistant Angela Cheong's name displayed on the holoscreen. _Shit_. This meant that whatever she was calling about must have been important, because she knew better than to disturb Teller under any other circumstances.

"What's up, Angela?" he asked.

"Mr. Teller," she replied, "we've just received news from our colony over on EE-L4. They've established first contact with the natives. According to Fred, he's met with some kind of local king."

_What, already? That was fast_. "Where are they right now?"

"Fred's taking this native chieftain back to the Colony as we speak, to negotiate a trade agreement, or something to that effect."

"Try and open a direct line to Fred. Now," commanded Teller, "I'm heading to the comm room as we speak." He immediately got up and began scrambling back to the main command center. He had gone over the protocol for these kinds of First Contact scenarios with Fred and all the other colony managers before – now was the moment of truth to see if any of it has sunken in.

* * *

_**Footnotes: **__as we know by now, "Planet EE-L4" is the official designation that the Earth humans have given to the planet that Westeros is located on. In this chapter, we got a bit of a glimpse into Westeros' planetary neighbors. Remember that the planets are named as such because of which Lagrangian Point they are located at (Planet EE-L0, being the largest world, is thus located at the "L-Zero" point). And I'm pretty sure based on the brief description Mr. Teller gave in this chapter that we can figure out more or less which planet EE-L5 is supposed to be..._


	5. Eddard 2

**Eddard (II)**

Over the years, Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, had traveled throughout the Seven Kingdoms and had seen many strange and exotic sights. But the seven foreigners who now led him and his party through the Wolfswood shocked and surprised him to no end. Indeed, Ned could sense that these feelings were not unique to him, and that his wards and bannermen too shared his apprehension and suspicion towards these bizarre peoples. But Ned was a man of honor, and was not particularly inclined to needless bloodshed. He wanted to understand these people's intentions (as well as their combat capabilities) before taking any further action.

The foreigners, strange as they were, seemed amicable enough – the five men-at-arms who served as Lord Frederick's honor guard presented themselves with the kind of obedience and discipline that Lord Stark found admirable. He did not yet understand the workings of their bowless metallic crossbows, but Ned guessed that these soldiers would put up a real fight no matter what they were armed with. The oldest and most veteran-appearing of these warriors, the one called Ser Hawthorne, had a gruff and commanding aura that reminded Ned almost of Lord Stannis.

Lord Frederick the merchant prince, on the other, was a different creature entirely – cheerful, charismatic, conversing in the Common Tongue half formally, as befitting a lord, and half in the unruly and informal vernacular of the smallfolk. He seemed rather forthcoming and personable, though Ser Rodrik had been right to point out the underlying arrogance and manner with which he behaved as if this land was rightfully his. But Ned had dealt with Lannisters before, and though he did not like this attitude one bit, he simply took it in stride.

"So, Lord Kovacs", said Lord Stark, "tell me more about this homeland of yours."

"For sure, your Lordship," replied Lord Kovacs. "The land we came from lies very, very far away from here. If you will, think of the furthest possible place you can. I can assure you that our home lies even further than that!"

"The furthest place I can think of?" said Ned, "well, when I was younger, I was once told a tale that the sky is blue because the entire world sits in the eye of a blue-eyed giant. I don't suppose you happen to come from … _further_ than that?"

"If you want to put it that way", laughed Lord Kovacs. "We didn't see any giants or eyes of terror on the way here, at least I hope not! But yes, our land lies even further than _that_. So far, in fact, that it would have taken us thousands of years to reach here were it not for a, uh, special form of sorcery that reduced our voyage significantly, down to only six months."

_A voyage thousands of years long?_ Thought Ned. _Reduced to six months?_ It seemed that every answer received only raised further questions, but Ned was determined to get to the bottom of all of this. "So you came by ship then?" he inquired.

"Yes. A ship that, uh, _flew._"

"Flew?!" sputtered Ser Rodrik, and Ned could see that Robb and Theon and Jon and the others had similar reactions. Ned, though, kept himself composed. _Well, perhaps that would explain the comet_.

"Why, yes", said Lord Frederick to Ser Rodrik. "Our, eh, _ship_ is built to _sail_ across the skies."

"It's true," cut in Ser Daniel, speaking up from behind the metallic box he carried. "And we are the first people from our lands to ever travel this far, to_Westeros_, as you call this place."

"I see", said Lord Stark, "if that be the case, then I am honored that you would make the North your first port-of-call. While we may not get many visitors here, I hope that you find us Northmen to be a hospitable lot all the same. But, if I may ask, what is it exactly that we have of value, that you traveled this far to procure?"

"Oh, many things," said Lord Frederick. "For starters, we noticed that your lands are vast and yet empty."

"Aye", muttered Lord Ned in agreement, "the North is as large as the other Seven Kingdoms combined. But we have little here save for the winds of winter and a dream of spring in the coldest of nights".

"Oh believe me, your lordship, there is great potential here to develop this land!" said Fred. "Beneath the ground lie rich ores far, far more valuable than gold or silver … at least to us, that is. And even the land itself has great real estate value. The potential for tourism alone is quite a lucrative market worth exploring."

_Tourism? Real estate? Minerals far more valuable than gold or silver? What in the name of the Old Gods and the New was this merchant prince babbling on about?__  
_  
"You will, of course, be compensated handsomely for all of these," he continued, "we have gold and other valuable goods we are willing to trade in exchange for the lease. All of this with your blessing, of course."

"And I don't suppose I have a _choice_ in this matter?" cut in Ned, rather starkly.

"Ah, uh, well!" said Lord Frederick, clearly caught off-guard by Ned's question, "I, uh, see that you have some reservations. That … is understandable. Please, forgive me Lord Stark if I have given you the wrong impression. But fear not, we came here to seek a just and equitable trade deal that will surely be of mutual benefit to both of us and the parties we represent."

"My apologies if I made you feel unwelcome, Lord Kovacs, that was not my intent", said Ned, "I do not doubt that you are an honorable man, and I can see that there are many things that we could gain and learn from your people. But I must warn you that the final word rests with His Grace, King Robert of House Baratheon, First of His Name. He is the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Now, as it happens, you are in luck, Lord Kovacs. His Grace is coming here as we speak, and is expected to arrive at Winterfell in a month's time. Perhaps, by then, if you would have something of value to show to His Grace, then you shall have full permission to commence your operations here. But if the King tells you that you must leave, you must respect his commands. Even I am bound by duty to the Iron Throne."

"Ah, don't worry about that!" smiled Lord Frederick. "I assure you, your lordliness, we have plenty of things your King may very well be interested in! But thank you, Lord Stark. I appreciate your offer of friendship and partnership greatly. One month is plenty of time. In fact, our mining operation is scheduled to begin tomorrow, and if you would perhaps be interested, we would like to extend to you an invitation to be our guest of honor at the launching."

* * *

It was late in the day, almost evening, when the company of seven-and-ten arrived at The Company's campsite … or at least what Lord Frederick had called their campsite. For the sight that greeted Lord Eddard's eyes was like no campsite he had ever seen before. It was more like an entire village, and even that word failed to completely capture the scale and spectacle of just what exactly the Lord of Winterfell found himself looking at.

The clearing in the Wolfswood contained dozens of small buildings that had appeared overnight. These houses and hovels took the form of square boxes – like those wooden crates that a ship might carry, except much larger, and except for the fact that they were at least a hundred miles from the sea! On closer inspection, it was revealed that these boxes were made entirely of iron and painted over. Each of these box-houses had a number painted onto it, speaking greatly to the level of organization and discipline shown by the men of this trading company.

The diversity of the people gathered was like nothing Ned had ever seen before. In addition to those men and women who bore the same complexion as the Northmen, there were also a number of darker, olive-skinned men and women who resembled the Rhoynar of Dorne, as well as a handful of those darker still, who looked like Summer Islanders. And there were also a few members of a new race Ned had never seen before, who stood apart from the others based on the shape of their eyes (though Ned would later learn that they did bear some similarity to the elusive Yi-Tish from the Jade Sea).

But the diversity of races that met his eyes was one of the least shocking things that Ned beheld. The entire encampment was surrounded by torches mounted on tall posts that glowed far brighter than any campfire. But a close look at the post nearest to them shown that these torches produced no flame, no heat, no smoke – only a brilliant white light emanating from within a glass box. (Their host would later explain that these torches, along with their cooking stoves and other things, derived their power from a form of lightning-summoning sorcery conjured up by the campsite's main 'generator'. Ned had to wonder what the Maesters of the Citadel would have to say of this).

Some distance away, the Men of Winterfell glimpsed an inanimate metallic form in the shape of a man, that resembled a Southron knight in full plate … save for the fact that it stood nearly twenty feet high! Even the dreaded Mountain of House Clegane would have barely have reached this knight's knee! For a moment, Ned recalled old folktales of giants he had heard, and had to wonder if these foreigners had giants too among their company …

And finally, off in the distance, one could glimpse the shape of a truly massive object, almost as large as a castle. Ned could find no word to describe it other than the fact that it loosely resembled a large, fat seagull with its wings spread apart, but made entirely out of a gleaming white metal. It was then that it occurred to Lord Stark that this must have been the "flying ship" that Lord Kovacs had spoken of, but how was that possible? Long ago, the Targaryens had bred armies of dragons, and yet whereas a dragon carried a single rider upon its back, the hulk that now greeted his eyes had somehow managed to carry all of these strange foreign peoples and their belongings down from the skies above. _What was this thing? Who were these people? Where had they come from?!_

"Welcome, good sirs", began Lord Frederick, "to Autumn's Frontier! Hope you like the name – I suggested it myself, after all this brisk weather we've been having lately. Speaking of which," he shivered. "it's starting to get a lil' nippy. Here, let's go grab a hot tea and I'll show you around afterwards."


	6. Eddard 3

**Eddard (III)**

After the horses and the direwolves had been tied up, Lord Stark's company was invited to join their host for tea. The dining hall was a large tent lit up with more of those flameless lanterns. To partake in afternoon tea was a practice more common to the Andal nobility of the south, to the Lannisters or the Tyrells, than it was to the hardy Northmen. But at least it was comforting to see that there was one facet these foreigners shared with the Seven Kingdoms.

Over tea, Lord Stark had the opportunity to meet more of the foreigners who had come with Lord Kovacs' crew. They were a diverse lot, including the darker-skinned Rhoynar and Summer Islanders, as well as some of that oriental race that Lord Stark had never seen before. All seemed well versed and fluent in the Common Tongue – strangely, some of them even spoke in accents that Ned could recognize from different regions throughout the Seven Kingdoms. (And as Ned would find out much, much later, they even expressed disgust or disapproval in the same profane language as the Westerosi!)

In a way, though, what they shared in language only further highlighted what they didn't share in culture or manner. For starters, everything was so, well, _stark_. There were no fluttering banners, no bright and vibrant sigils adorning shields, none of the ostentatious displays of jewelry and perfume and arrogance that Ned had come to commonly associate with wealthy foreign merchants. On the one hand, Lord Stark found this level of austerity to be somewhat admirable, and far more in-line with the Starks themselves, than with, say, the Lannisters or the Dornish. At the same time, however, there was something almost unsettling about these people's level of organization and industry. The fact that everything was _numbered_ – from their clothing, up to the box-houses – added to this impression.

Furthermore, the Lord of Winterfell had to admit that he was impressed by just how _clean_ everything was. Any self-respecting lord or lady of Westeros invested great time in keeping their mannerly home as clean and presentable as possible, but these foreigners' box-houses were positively _sterile_ by comparison. Lord Kovacs explained that cleanliness and proper disposal of waste was something that his people took extremely seriously, and even took the time to proudly show the men of Winterfell to one of the smaller box-houses that contained a privy that, much to the Lord of Winterfell's pleasant surprise, did not stink. According to the merchant prince, this mundane throne was one of his people's crowning technological achievements.

At the same time, too, there was a certain openness and laidback demeanor in the character of these foreigners that suggested that they did not respect the same social hierarchies as the Westerosi. For example, Lord Frederick and Ser Daniel took no insult whatsoever when they inquired of Ned the nature of Jon's parentage. Jon was even invited to sit with the rest of the party at the head table, alongside their host – this would have been inconceivable in any other place in the realm (with the notable exception, of course, of Dorne).

The men of Winterfell tried to follow their liege lord's example and maintain a straight face throughout the entire affair, but Lord Stark could see beneath this façade that they too were amazed and baffled at every turn. Throughout most of their late afternoon tea, Ser Rodrik and the other house guards had remained on-guard and alert, still distrustful of the foreigners, though they gracefully accepted whatever refreshments were offered to them. The younger men, though, took a little more keenly to the strangers. Robb and Theon, eager young lads as they were, seemed to take a liking to the foreigners from the start, happily accepting food and drink and chatting away. Jon, on the other hand, was a little more reserved – though Ned suspected that this was due to the unusual kindness he received from their host lord.

The sun had set by the time tea was over, but there was still plenty of light outside for the merchant prince to give his guests a brief tour of the premises. It was not a very large base, but the sheer wonder it kept the tour going far longer than expected. Lord Kovacs glossed over much of the secrets and workings behind their wondrous devices – this was probably partly to expedite the tour, but mainly because Kovacs himself admitted that he "was no engineer", that he himself was not fully versed in his own technology.

Not that Ned and his company would have understood any of it, anyway – all this talk of "electricity" and "fusion". For the most part, the Men of the North contented themselves with such explanations as "alchemy", "sorcery", and "captured lightning". The more Ned saw of the foreigners' camp, the more he impressed and amazed he was, and yet at the same time, the more he could see that these works were not true sorcery. Every device, from the flameless lanterns to the bowless crossbows, from the box-houses right up to their mighty dragon-ship, all of them had some kind of logic to how they were built – every little detail, every little bolt or lettered marking, proved to Ned that these contraptions were indeed forged by the hands of men.

At one point, Ned couldn't help but try to imagine the most intricate machine he had ever seen up until that point. He recalled once having seen, many years ago, a grand clockwork model of all of Westeros commissioned in the reign of the Mad King Aerys, Second of His Name. This elaborate model, tragically destroyed during the Sack of King's Landing, had been a real beauty to behold – a map that covered an entire table, with every little detail, every major castle, from Winterfell to King's Landing, to even as far as Astapor and the cities of Slavers' Bay, all beautifully and painstakingly crafted out of brass and iron and wood and leather and various fabrics. A series of hand-cranks powered the tiny clockwork mechanisms, the tiny springs and gears that animated each little citadel and brought it to life, rising out of the flat table surface. The builder of this unique treasure had been some Essosi craftsman from the Free Cities whose name was known only to the Mad King himself, and was now, much like his great work, lost to the ravages of time.

Now, however, Ned could see for himself that these foreigners employed many, many devices of similar or greater intricacy to King Aerys' magnificent toy. And whereas the latter had served little purpose beyond providing amusement to the Targaryen household, Ned saw that each and every one of these wondrous devices that the sky-peoples used served a practical function.

But it was the "fire-arms", the bowless metallic crossbows of Lord Kovacs' bannermen, that drew the most curiosity from the Northmen. Ned would later realize that there was one very good reason for this: everything else they had seen so far fulfilled a peaceful use. The box-houses served as portable shelters; the flameless lanterns provided illumination at night; and even the dragon-ship, large and impressive as it was, served no other discernable purpose than simply to carry people and goods in the way that a regular ship did.

The firearms, on the other hand, represented something else entirely. These were devices built with the intention to kill – to kill quickly and ruthlessly and efficiently, from afar, and in great numbers. A skilled crossbowman might put in two quarrels in the time it takes for a Southron knight to charge a hundred paces, if he was lucky; a longbowman might put in up to eight arrows in the same time. But Ned had heard an offhand comment from Ser Hawthorne that these firearms could spit hundreds of bright bolts of burning iron and brimstone in mere seconds, and at ranges much, much further than any bow. Ned decided that he needed to see one of these devices in action for himself, and asked Lord Frederick accordingly.

* * *

A short while later, Lord Stark and his company were led to the "firing range", the practice area that Ser Hawthorne had demarcated for the purposes that his bannermen may continue to practice and hone their skills. It was relatively simple – a patch of forest clearing a hundred paces long, with a pair of freshly felled wooden posts driven into the ground at each end as markers. A couple of large red signs had been set up, warning people not to walk into the middle of the range during a practice session.

For this particular session, a wooden board had been set up against the far post, to serve as a target. This board had the silhouette of a man painted onto it in black. After sending his bannermen out to make sure the area was clear, Ser Hawthorne turned back to address the Northmen and began.

"This, good sirs," began Ser Hawthorne, "is an AR-27 'Stacker' Assault Rifle, first introduced to the United Nations Colonial Marine Corps in 2114. Chambered for 7.62x51mm UNCDF-standard issue ammunition, with an effective range of 1.2 kilometers." He paused. "But I see all of this is lost on you, so I will explain to you the most basic workings behind its construction."

"First of all, this is a _bullet_ – the projectile that is launched from the rifle", said the knight commander as he held up a conical metallic bolt. He passed it among the men to see for themselves. "Don't worry it won't bite. See this? It is made of brass, but can be made of steel too. It contains a … _special powder_ brewed by our … _alchemists_. This potion explodes if struck in a certain way, which is what the mechanism at the back of the rifle does. As with a crossbow, when I pull the trigger, a spring-operated hammer strikes the bullet. The force of the small explosion propels the bullet forward – far faster, further, and deeper than any arrow, with ferocious force to rival that of a ballista-bolt.

"The explosion, of course, generates smoke and fire and noise, as well as _recoil_. You have all used crossbows, correct? You know about how a crossbow "kicks back" when you launch a bolt? The rifle does that too, only with much more power and furor than a crossbow. Think of this as firing a handheld ballista. If you're not careful, the recoil can throw off your aim, or even break your arm. This is why I need to hold the rifle in a certain way when I shoot it.

"Mark my words, gentlemen, _this is not a toy_ – this is a weapon of mass destruction, and if you're not careful, not only could you mess yourself up pretty badly, but you could also endanger the lives of those around you. In fact, this switch here is called the _safety_, because it stops you from accidentally pulling the trigger and shooting someone if you're not in a fight. I don't know if your crossbows have 'safeties', but I noticed that you keep your swords sheathed and your arrows tucked away in quivers so that you don't accidentally stab yourself. The same principle applies here.

"After I have fired a bullet, the mechanism of this rifle pulls in a new bullet from this box that you see here. This is called a magazine, and it contains 30 such bullets. Once all 30 bullets are used up, I simply eject it, and insert a new magazine, as such." With that, the knight commander proceeded to pull out the box from the firearm, and showed it around. Ned and the other Northmen could see that one end of the box was open, and that it contained within it more of the brass bolts that Ser Hawthorne had shown earlier. After the 'magazine' had been passed around for all to see, the knight commander took it back.

"Alright then", said Ser Hawthorne, "One last note. Just to warn you, this will be very loud, like thunder cracking through the sky, so if you are sensitive to that kind of thing, you may want to cover your ears. That's why I advised you, gentlemen, to keep the dogs and horses tied up back at base, just in case any of them were panicked by the noise. Everyone got that? Good. Here goes."

What happened next lasted barely a second, but would forever challenge Lord Stark's worldview in deep and disconcerting ways. Ser Hawthorne took ten paces from the rest of the company, presented the firearm at the target, and pulled the trigger.

_**BANG!  
**_  
The firearm kicked back ferociously as a bright flash of light shone forth from the end of the barrel, accompanied, sure enough, by a loud crack as if lightning had struck the party. It might as well have.

_**BANG!**_**  
**  
Ser Hawthorne fired a second shot, barely pausing to readjust his aim, recovering from the kickback of the first. This time, Ned noticed, over his initial shock, that a small brass cylinder was ejected out of the back of the "rifle" every time it released another bolt.

_**BANG!**__**  
**_  
He fired a third time, took a second to adjust a switch on the side of the firearm, and took aim once more.

_**BAH-AH-ANG!  
**_  
This time, the firearm spewed forth what must have been three separate shots all at once, or so Ned surmised from the fact that this time, three brass casings fell to the ground around Ser Hawthorne's feet.

Afterwards, Ser Hawthorne led Lord Stark and his party down to inspect the damage. All six bolts had found their mark, striking the painted target figure. In fact, each of the six bullets had completely penetrated clean through the board, and had embedded themselves deep within the thick oaken post behind it.

Lord Stark did not know whether to be more impressed by Ser Hawthorne's excellent marksmanship, or by the raw destructive power he had just paid witness to. Had this been not a tree, but instead a man-at-arms in full plate, then it was entirely conceivable that these bolts would have penetrated straight through the steel, through the man, and clean out of the other end!

Throughout his many years fighting and warring across the Seven Kingdoms, from the Red Mountains of Dorne, to the salty cliffs of Pyke, Ned had witnessed all manner of carnage and horror. He had seen the work of the dreaded Mountain of House Clegane during the Sack of King's Landing. He had seen entire villages and castles lain waste, reduced to ashes by the armies of dragon and stag and lion and wolf alike. He had even been forced to watch as his own dear beloved sister Lyanna had died in his arms, powerless to do anything but give her his word that he would forever honor her dying wish. And yet now, somehow, the thought of just what this firearm was capable of … this 'rifle', this cold and foreign machine of iron and fire and death … it all seemed almost as horrifying to Ned as anything he had ever seen before, or since.

"So", began Ser Hawthorne, breaking the silence, "do we have anymore questions? How about you, _Sharpe_?"

Ned did not know who or what a 'Sharpe' was, but that mattered little - he had a far more pressing question at hand: "Tell me, Ser Hawthorne", he began, "how long does it take one of your craftsmen to forge a fresh one of these 'fire-arms' from scratch? How long for the 'bullets'? Is this a weapon you reserve only for the most loyal and elite among your bannermen?"

"Oh, this model? It's funny you ask, Lord Stark," smiled Ser Hawthorne. "My apologies, I wouldn't know the exact annual production figures for the AR-27. But to give you a rough idea: where we come from, _each and every soldier_ has one. As for the ammunition, I wouldn't know the exact production figures for those either, but I do know that the branches of the UNCDF expend, collectively, about _150 million rounds per month_. Granted, most of those are just for _training_ – we haven't had a proper full-scale war for a while now ... only a minor insurrection or two …"

Lord Eddard Stark took a long while indeed to let all of this information fully sink in.

* * *

That night, Lord Eddard and his company took supper with their host. The main course of this feast was a large stag who had been shot on Lord Frederick's orders – the fresh venison made a welcome distraction from the general unappetizing nature of the rest of dinner (for this, the host apologized profusely, explaining that their food supplies had to be packed and preserved in such a way as to survive the duration of their long voyage). The ale that accompanied the feast, though, was much better, though only because their host explained that he had disobeyed regulation to bring his own private stock, consisting of several kegs of a certain ale that apparently was brewed by the noble House of New Belgium, in the great citadel of Fort Collins, in the ancient kingdom of Colorado.

It was over this lively feast that Lord Frederick and his company happily spoke more of the lands from whence they had come. Their homeland was an empire that presided over many kingdoms, much like Old Valyria, yet larger and far more powerful. This empire was made up of no less 67 constituent kingdoms – "54 states, 10 provinces, and 3 territories", as Lord Frederick had put it, though the Northmen could not understand what exactly was the distinction – and one of these constituent regions was Lord Frederick's homeland, the great kingdom of Ontario.

Furthermore, their empire, which called itself "America", was not the only one that vied for dominance in their part of the universe. Ser Hawthorne, for instance, came from the Kingdom of England, which, together with the Kingdoms of Scotland, Wales, and 'a piece of Ireland', formed a separate realm of its own, independent of America. Strangely enough, judging from their accents and grasp of the Common Tongue, Ned noticed that these Englishmen seemed to bear far more similarity to the Westerosi than those from America. The knight commander had even suggested that Lord Stark reminded him of a friend of his, who hailed from the great citadel of Sheffield, in the great lands of Yorkshire.

The trading company of which Lord Frederick and Ser Daniel were members was just one of many mercantile guilds that dominated the society of their realm. These guilds were huge – each employing thousands of workers, of merchants and clerks, of craftsmen and artisans, as well as a small army of loyal warriors and bannermen who protected the guild, whom Lord Frederick called 'lawyers'. Lord Stark guessed that they were named as such as it was their duty to uphold the law, though judging from Lord Frederick's less-than-flattering description, he seemed to believe otherwise.

Unlike Westeros, their realm had no kings or lords or knights; instead, these crucial roles in society were taken up by various merchant princes, bankers and money barons, and "captains of trade and industry". Ned did not like to hear this at all, as it reminded him too much of the way the Lannisters ruled over the Westerlands, or of what he had heard of the Free Cities of Braavos and Pentos and Volantis. These were places where money ruled supreme over honor or noble blood, and where everything had a price, from a woman's maidenhead, to a man's piety and dignity. That many of these so-called 'Free Cities' continued to practice slavery did not endear Lord Stark to them in any way, though Lord Kovacs did reassure him that their own realm had outlawed slavery three hundred years earlier.

Nevertheless, even Ned could see that there were some things to be gained from a partnership with these foreigners. For all of his Lannister-like mannerisms, Lord Kovacs seemed a decent man at heart, who had thus far shown respect and hospitality to the Northmen (even though it was their land to begin with). Ser Daniel too seemed a morally upright character, loyal and dedicated to the tasks to which he was assigned, even if Ned was yet to decipher the mystery behind that metallic box he kept carrying everywhere ...

And finally, there was the knight commander, Ser Hawthorne, and the men-at-arms that he commanded, who carried themselves in a disciplined and diligent manner that vaguely reminded Ned of Lord Stannis. Initially, Ned had been distrustful of these warriors who plied their service in exchange for coin, like a lowborn sellsword. Later on, however, Ned came to learn that their realm maintained a professional standing army at all times, not too dissimilar to the citizen legions of the Valyrian Freehold. These men and women were not mercenaries whose loyalty could be bought and sold like that of a common whore. Rather, they were more akin to a professional citizen militia, much like the City Watch of King's Landing or Lannisport. In a world as dangerous as theirs, where even a common bandit could carry one of these dangerous 'fire-arms', it made sense to Ned that any proper and self-respecting realm would maintain such forces to provide for the common defense.

Finally, though, when all was said and done, Ned had come to understand one thing – _these foreigners did not intend to leave_. They had traveled too far by now for that to have been a reasonable option. And even if Ned told them to leave, he had the creeping suspicion that they would simply go behind his back and speak directly to King Robert himself, or worse, that they would turn to the Lannisters instead. These peoples had brought with them both dangerous devices and dangerous ideas as well, and the last thing Ned wanted was to see these items spread into the hands of a house whose honor Ned had found questionable since the days of Robert's Rebellion against the Mad King Aerys.

No, if protecting the realm meant keeping these foreigners tied up _here_, where at the very least Ned felt that he could keep an eye on them, then so be it. At least then he would have time to observe them, and to learn more about them, in whatever time was left before His Grace himself would arrive at Winterfell.

_Gods_, thought Ned to himself, as they were shown to their guest quarters later that night. _What is this task that you have seen fit to burden me with?_

At that moment, the wind picked up yet again, howling through the trees and sending a slight chill throughout the camp. Even the direwolves felt the need to give a howl. _Winter is coming indeed_, though Ned. _Very well then. Perhaps there was something that these foreigners would prove useful in after all_ …


	7. Appendix 1: Stacker Assault Rifle

_**Foreword:** this chapter feature a database entry on the weapon featured prominently in the previous story chapter. Over the course of this story, you can expect the narrative to be occasionally broken up by 'appendices' that will include technical database entries, in-universe emails and official documents, and timelines - all of which, I hope, serves to flesh out the universe a little more for all readers out there._

* * *

**UNITED NATIONS COLONIAL DEFENSE FORCE (est. 2096)**  
_Ad Astra Per Aspera ("Reach for the stars, through adversity")_

**Database Entry 1043:**  
**AR-27 "STACKER" ASSAULT RIFLE**

**Type**: bullpup configuration automatic rifle  
**Introduced**: 2114  
**Producer**: Martian Armory Inc. (manufactured by various other producers, both under license, and illicitly as well)  
**Length**:  
+AR-27 rifle: 94cm  
+AR-27c carbine: 84cm  
**Weight**:  
+AR-27 rifle: 4.0kg  
+AR-27c carbine: 3.6kg  
**Fire mode**:  
Select fire:  
+Full automatic  
+Semi-automatic  
+3-round burst-fire  
**Rate-of-Fire**:  
+Full automatic: 600rpm  
+Semi-automatic: 240rpm  
+Burst-fire: 900 rpm  
**Ammunition**: 7.62x51mm UNCDF standard munitions  
**Feed system**:  
+30-round detachable box magazine  
+40-round detachable extended box magazine  
+60-round detachable drum magazine  
**Attachments**:  
+AR-27 pump-action 12-gauge shotgun  
+AR-27 pump-action 25mm grenade launcher  
+M25 net gun / grappling gun

**Notes &amp; History**:

The AR-27 "Stacker" Assault Rifle, named after famed 21st century Allied general Thomas Stacker, is one of the most common standard infantry rifles in use today throughout Earth and the Colonies. It is the standard-issue weapon of choice for the armed forces of the United States of America, United Kingdom, United Korea, as well as the United Nations Colonial Defense Forces - so basically, any faction or entity with "United" in the name.

The Stacker is well regarded for its relatively simple and efficient yet robust and versatile design, making it a reliable weapon-of-choice in most combat situations. Furthermore, the weapon's operation is entirely mechanical – the only electronic component is the digital ammo-counter. In this way, the Stacker is not as vulnerable to electromagnetic disruptor (EMD) weapons the way more advanced electronic rifles would be. For all of these reasons, combined with its relative cheapness, It should come as no surprise then that the Stacker is the second-most common rifle in production today, second only to the Russian Kalashnikov-9.


	8. Appendix 2: First Contact Report

_**Foreword**: in this chapter, we have another piece of "world-building"/"plot-advancing" background material. Yes, even in the future, mega-corporations and governments require lots and lots of filing of official paperwork and what not._

* * *

**From: [REDACTED]  
To: [REDACTED]  
Re: first contact w/ EE-L4 natives – full report  
Time: 2315hr**

Mr. Teller:

As you've no doubt heard by now, today we made contact with the natives. The exact details are contained in the attached official report I've compiled for you, and in the attached holovideo file (Daniel deserves the credit on this one!). But long story short, I think things went about as well as we could have hoped for. This local lord seems like a decent sort of chap – he didn't once flip-out or panic, and he actually seemed pretty forthcoming. BTW, tell Lana over in Linguistics that I lost the bet and owe her a couple hundred Credits. Turns out they speak English after all! Who woulda thunk it?

Anyway, I've managed to strike some sort of deal with our new friend here – we'll lease the land around our colony and some labor from him, and we'll pay him back in gold, tradable goods, and some other services. We'll finalize the deal tomorrow. The good news is that their monetary system seems to be heavily based on the price of gold and silver, and so they'll accept payment in solid ingots, at least until we work out some other mode of remuneration.

Speaking of which, I hope you don't mind, but I'll need to requisition use of more of our strategic gold reserve; I figured that the more laborers we hire, the more we can free up our machines here to work on other stuff, and the more quickly we can get the quarry, the foundry, the chemical plant, and the fabrication plant all up and running and producing any goods we can trade to the locals in any meaningful amounts. Otherwise, apart from that, everything's proceeding on schedule just fine.

Tonight, we're hosting our new friend and his party over at the guesthouse – nothing fancy, but they've been sleeping in tents and shitting out in the woods these last few nights, so I guess it must be a palace by comparison, right? Tomorrow, we'll be showing them the official launch of the quarry. Now that'll be a blast!

Will keep you posted as things go.

Regards,  
Frederick J. Kovacs

* * *

**FOR YOUR EYES ONLY:  
Status: CLASSIFIED, Level-5  
Author: Kovacs _et al_  
Date: October 06, 2154 C.E. (Day 05 After Arrival)**

**OFFICIAL REPORT of FIRST CONTACT with Natives of Epsilon Eridani EE-L4**

To Whom It May Concern:

On Day 05 after arrival, we established first contact with the natives of Planet Epsilon Eridani EE-L4. Apparently, what had happened was that they had seen the plasma contrails from our arrival shuttle from hundreds of miles away, and had spent the last few days following us to our landing site to investigate the source of the "mysterious comet".

At 1535 hours, our motion detectors alerted us to the presence of these locals in our immediate vicinity. I, along with Asst-Dir. D. Zimmerman, and five Marines of the UNCDF Colonial Marine Corps – Sgt. N. Hawthorne, Pvt. T. Billings, Pvt. M. Blaskowitz, Pvt. B. Elway, and Pvt. I. Rodriguez – went out to greet them, as per the stipulations of the UNASEC Prime Directive §3-202(a), as well as the personal recommendations of Dir. Jonathan P. Teller, Director of all Epsilon Eridani operations. We proceeded to greet these natives on foot, as using our utility trucks would have undoubtedly have frightened the locals, who are unaccustomed to the sight and noise of these vehicles.

At 1613 hours (local time), I initiated first contact, addressing the party in English, as instructed to do so by the linguistics department. Sure enough, they responded back in English, thus confirming Dr. Del Rio's theory [see Lana Del Rio's memo: "Explanations For And Implications Of The Existence Of English-Speaking Xeno-Humans"]. I proceeded to introduce myself, on behalf of The Company™. In response, the leader of this local party-of-ten greeted me, and introduced the rest of his travel companions to us. These ten individuals in question are outlined below:

_[NOTE: some of the following names may be misspelled, as these names were communicated to us verbally and not in writing]__  
_  
**Lord Eddard Stark**: party leader; a high-ranking nobleman who claims to hold lordship over the entire northern half of the Western Continent. Lord Stark's capital and residence is located at Castle Winterfell, located roughly 140 miles or so southwest of Autumn's Frontier. Subject looks to be middle-aged, roughly 35-40 years old, is married, and has six children, two of which were members of the party that greeted us (see below).  
**Robb Stark**: son of Lord Stark and wife Lady Caitlin Stark; currently Lord Stark's heir.  
**John Snow***: son of Lord Stark and unknown mother; currently serving as a retainer to the Stark household. _*[NOTE: EE-L4 indigenous naming customs gave John the surname "Snow" as he was born out of wedlock. Must conduct further research into indigenous customs and traditions]_  
**Theon Grayjoy**: personal assistant to Lord Stark; son of another noble family from a different region of the continent.  
**Sir Rodric Cassel**: knight in service to Lord Stark; commander of the guard.  
**Alan**: guardsmen of Lord Stark  
**Kane**: guardsmen of Lord Stark  
**Varly**: guardsmen of Lord Stark  
**Porter**: guardsmen of Lord Stark  
**Tomard**: guardsmen of Lord Stark

After preliminary discussions with our host, I proceeded to give him and his party a tour of the premises of our colony designated "Autumn's Frontier", in the hopes of interesting him in striking a trade deal with The Company™. We sensed some initial suspicion from the locals, which is understandable, seeing as we are strangers in their eyes bearing technology and ideas beyond their comprehension. I would imagine that everything we have represents an affront to their traditional way of life. For example, Sgt. Hawthorne gave them a demonstration of the workings of the Marines' assault rifles, which have the potential to completely undermine their traditional feudal political structure in the same way that the introduction of gunpowder weapons did so in our own history [Marshall, C. "How The Introduction Of Gunpowder Undermined The Medieval Feudal Political Structure", _The History Review_. Vol. 97 No. 12. December 2136. Pg12-29].

In any case, after having shown them around our landing site, we next invited them to dine with us. It was over dinner that we outlined some of our specific goals [again, as per directives by Dir. J. Teller], as well as shared with them some facts about Earth. In turn, our host explained to us more about their culture and history, some of which is outlined below. More importantly, he has agreed to grant us a lease for the next 50 days, at the end of which we'll renegotiate the terms of the lease based on how well they've managed to benefit from our presence here.

Discussion with Mr. Stark revealed important details about the workings of the indigenous EE-L4 society. I have outlined below some of the most important points, and how we can apply them to our purposes here in the system.

I. First, and most importantly, we have confirmed all of Dr. Del Rio's theories. The local indigenous culture that we encountered is an Anglo-Caucasian culture that bears a remarkable, almost-identical, similarity to the High Middle Ages in Europe, both technologically and socially. This similarity extends even to the language and alphabet used. Dr. Del Rio's aforementioned memo has already outlined possible theories that explain this phenomenon, as well as proposes practical applications that this will have on our operations here. In short, however, it should make our dealings here that much simpler – at the very least, it will be that much easier for us to employ a local labor force if we at least speak the same language.

II. The Western Continent is, coincidentally, known as "Westeros" among the natives (and I suggest we adopt this name as the official name of this continent hereafter). The entire continent is divided up among different administrative regions, who in turn are ruled by a central absolute monarchy. This monarchy is currently held by one Robert Baratheon, who won the throne through a civil war 15 years ago. All other lords and nobility, including Lord Eddard Stark, have sworn fealty to King Robert. As of the time of this writing, King Robert is out touring his domain, and according to Lord Stark, is expected to arrive in the north in roughly a month's time*. Lord Stark has suggested that perhaps we should send an envoy to meet King Robert when he arrives to negotiate further diplomatic and trade agreements.  
_*[NOTE: accurate travel predictions are difficult to gauge due to the backward state of the Western Continent's (virtually non-existent) transportation infrastructure]  
_  
III. We will try to produce a more accurate map of this "Westeros" and its constituent territories and fiefdoms from the knowledge of our host over the coming days. We will also begin compiling data files on each of the noble houses and various other political factions of "Westeros".

IV. For these reasons, I would like to request permission to requisition our Satellite Vixen-39 to supplement the efforts of Vixen-37 which is already in orbit over the planet.

V. The calendar in use by the natives is almost completely identical to the 365-day, 12-month, year that we use, right down to the names of the individual months, although the calendar is not exactly in sync with ours. Furthermore, they use the year of the foundation of their monarchy as their "Year Zero". As of today, the local date is April 25, 298 A.C. ("After Crowning"), which corresponds to October 06, 2154 C.E. (Earth Standard Calendar).

VI. Apparently, however, the cycles of seasons do not correspond to the cycles of years, which is bizarre, as otherwise how else would the calendar come to base itself on the 365-day year? Observations of the planet's yearly rotation and revolution cycles from the _UNSV Belo Horizonte_ did not reveal any peculiarities. Therefore, that leaves two possibilities: either this phenomenon can be attributed to some kind of previously unknown solar activities in the system (possibly sunspots – in which case we should observe the climate patterns on EE-L5 and EE-L0); or this phenomenon is caused by something local to the planet itself (possibly even thaumaturgical in nature). I recommend that we have Dr. J. Osterman over in the Climatology Dept. take a look into this matter.

VII. The economy and society of "Westeros" is still Medieval and feudal at best, with a handful of landed aristocracy lording over the vast majority of the population, who reside in abject poverty and squalor. Most of their currency exchanges are either through barter, or through a system of coinage that uses the price of gold as a base. From what I have gathered, it appears that the principle denominations of their currency are the "Gold Dragon" and the "Silver Stag", forms of coinage that have been debased over the years owing to the profligate economic policies of the current monarchy. This would put our own reserves of solid 24-karat gold at considerable advantage.

VIII. However, I predict that far more useful than gold would be the other goods and services we have to offer. As stated, the indigenous people of EE-L4 reside at technological and societal levels akin to 15th century Europe at best. Sales of commodities that we can produce for cheap – fertilizers, medicines, simple mechanical devices, even simple steel products like blades or lengths of chain – could fetch (relatively) high prices among the locals.

IX. "Westeros" has no official population records or census; however, thermal scans by our satellites place the population of this continent at around 30 to 35 million or so. We, of course, seek peaceful and friendly relations with these natives, but in the event of hostilities, even with air support on our side, our small detachment of nine UNCDF Colonial Marines and limited reserves of ammunition could still be overwhelmed by sheer numbers. I therefore propose that we allot high priority towards the production of arms and munitions once our fabrication plant is operational, and that we also at once begin hiring a "native militia" from among those natives willing to fight for us if we pay them. Sgt. Hawthorne has already agreed to train these militiamen.

**_This report was compiled by Mr. F. Kovacs, Mr. D. Zimmerman, and Ms. K. Trevino on Day 05 at 2259 hours (local time). All information presented above is accurate to the fullest extent of these individuals' knowledge._**


	9. Eddard 4

_**Charter For The Lease of the Freehold of "Autumn's Frontier"**_

_This agreement, a contract, sets forth the terms as a binding agreement between the lessee, The Company™, as represented by Mr. Frederick J. Kovacs, and the landowner, the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, as represented by His Excellency Lord Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden Of The North to His Grace King Robert of House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm._

_The following terms are hereby set forth:_

_1\. This charter permits the lessee exclusive use of the land plot designated "Autumn's Frontier" from the date of signing until the date of termination._

_2\. The attached description and map outlines the territory in question. The total acreage of the Freehold of Autumn's Frontier is 145,790 acres, or 590 square kilometers, or 227.8 square miles. As the land lies within the recognized jurisdiction of the sovereign territory known as "the Kingdom of the North", hence, all payments for the use of this land will be made to the regional government at Winterfell, who administers this region on behalf of the Crown of the Seven Kingdoms._

_3\. The land will be leased for a period of 50 days, beginning at the date of signing (October 07, 2154 C.E. / April 26, 298 A.C.), at the end of which the contract and terms will be renegotiated and a new contract drawn up._

_4\. The agreed-upon price of the lease for the period of 50 days has been established at 800 Westerosi Gold Dragons (hereafter WGD) per day, or 40,000 WGD in total, or the equivalent value of gold, to be delivered in solid ingots. The leaser agrees to pay upfront the amount of 10,000 WGDs (or equivalent), and to pay the remainder before the end of the 50-day lease._

_5\. This contract may only be terminated at any point before the end of 50 days if it is overridden by the express order of a figure higher in authority in the respective organizations to which the signatories to this contract belong._

_5.A. As of the date of signing, these figures are identified to be, respectively: Mr. Jonathan P. Teller, Level-5 Managing Director of Epsilon Eridani Affairs, The Company™, and His Grace King Robert of House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm._

_6\. If either of the original signatories to this contract is in any way incapacitated or removed from office before the termination date, the contract will nonetheless continue to be upheld by said signatory's successor-in-office._

_7\. The expenses of all improvements to the land will be borne by the leaser. Leaser agrees to negotiate with landowner before commencing any further land improvements._

_8\. During the duration of the period of tenure, the landowner reserves the right to enter these lands for purposes of inspection of the land. However, the landowner also agrees to inform the lessee beforehand when such inspections will take place._

_9\. The lessee agrees to respect Westerosi laws and customs, and act accordingly, for the duration of the lease period._

_10\. This lease expires exactly 50 days from the date of signing; by which time, a new contract will have been negotiated._

_11\. Lessee has agreed not to knowingly employ any criminals or fugitives from the law, and that if any criminals or fugitives from the law are found seeking refuge within the boundaries of the land, that these persons will be swiftly handed over to the proper authorities for dispensation of the King's justice._

_This contract is hereby signed:_

_**Landowner:****  
**Lord Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden Of The North to His Grace, King Robert of House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm._

_**Lessee:****  
**Frederick J. Kovacs, Colony Director, Colony of Autumn's Frontier, The Company™._

_**Witnesses:  
**Lord Robb Stark, Heir of Winterfell, Firstborn of Lord Eddard Stark  
Daniel Zimmerman, Assistant Director, Colony of Autumn's Frontier, The Company™.  
_

* * *

"If we are agreed on the terms then," began Lord Frederick, "we shall proceed to signing."_  
_

"Very well then," agreed Ned. At his instruction, a vial of hot wax that had been heated on one of the trading company's flameless stoves was retrieved and poured out over the dotted line. Ned strode up and pressed his signet ring bearing the wolf sigil of House Stark into this dollop of wax. The foreigners carried no signet rings of their own, however, but instead resorted to sign their names on the parchment using a small, clean-looking silver stylus that left clean marks and no ink blotches whatsoever the way a feather quill might.

"Montblanc pens," said Lord Frederick proudly, "finest writing instruments in our world. Here, please keep this as a token of our friendship. I think you might find this useful in your future."

* * *

That night, the Lord of Winterfell and his men slept once again in the guesthouse, and although it was surprisingly clean and comfortable (perhaps more so than even Winterfell itself), Ned nonetheless found it difficult to sleep as he pondered over all he had seen over the last two days. And so he reached over and turned on his flameless lantern (what wonderful things these devices were: just a push of a button and there was light – clean, white, with no smoke or heat. Ned wondered if perhaps he could purchase some of these for Winterfell). Ned sat up in bed and reviewed some of the gifts that the trading company had given him, that were kept on the bedside desk. One of them in particular caught his attention.

It was a book – a rather voluminous tome, that had been given to him by Ser Hawthorne. The book was full of maps and beautiful illustrations, some disturbingly life-like. These pictures shown, among other things, various men-at-arms in colorful uniforms, brandishing more of those "firearms" (though Ned understood these to be older and more primitive than the ones borne by Ser Hawthorne's bannermen), as well as of enormous wooden ships, larger than any dromond in the Royal Fleet, carrying hundreds upon hundreds of these firearms (though, again, Ned had been told that these ships were old, and that the kingdoms of the world these foreigners had come from were now made of metal and could fly).

There were also pictures that shown entire countrysides lain waste by these roving armies; and of a king whose ambition, brilliance, and ruthlessness contrasted heavily with his unassuming stature. One picture even shown a man who, Ned noted, looked remarkably similar to himself, though Ned was disappointed to read in the caption that the figure was merely an actor in a mummer's performance that recreated the events of this war for the amusement of paying audiences rather than an actual warrior.

In Westeros, such a rare book with such vivid illustrations and such clean handwriting that put the finest scribe to shame would have easily have fetched several times its weight in gold in the markets of Oldtown or King's Landing. But Ned knew that the true value of this book lay not in coin, but in the knowledge and insights he would gain of these peoples, and more importantly, of the potential of their "fire-arms". He would make sure to thank Ser Hawthorne when he had finished with it. The cover of this tome read:

_**HISTORY OF THE NAPOLEONIC WARS – 300th Anniversary of Waterloo Edition  
**_**By Prof. Dennis Showalter**  
**Random House: 2015 (200th anniversary edition). Reprint: 2115.**


	10. Catelyn 1

**Catelyn (I)**

Lady Catelyn Tully's entire world had been turned upside down over the last three weeks. So much had transpired that it was now nearly impossible to believe that it hadn't been all too long ago that her lord husband Ned and their firstborn son Robb had come stumbling back to the gates of Winterfell, having disappeared for the better part of a week, and rambling on and on of the most incredulous things.

Even a man with as impeccable a reputation for honesty as Lord Eddard or Ser Rodrik might have been understood to be raving mad, were it not for the marvelous trinkets they had brought with them to confirm the truth in their tales. Catelyn was shocked enough as it was with the small fortune of gold their horses carried – it had been as if her lord husband and his bannermen had just randomly found 10,000 Gold Dragons sitting about in the middle of the Wolfswood.

But what had really struck the Lady Of The North beyond belief were the… the… _devices_ these foreigners had given to Ned and his company. There was, to name just one of many, that wondrous flameless metallic lantern that could capture and store the power of the sun. As Ned explained, during the day, this device was to be left outside to absorb the light of the sun, and at night, with the push of a button, it would release this stored-up energy in a brilliant white light that could outshine any great hall's hearth, and yet at the same time was devoid of any heat or smoke or flame (this, he explained, was the magic of something called "electricity").

Ned had received two of these lanterns as gifts – one he retained in their personal bedding chambers for his own personal use, for reading at night. The second he had ordered to be installed in the great dining hall of Winterfell, though he had first requested Maester Luwin to have a look at it and try to glean some of the secrets of its construction. The old Maester at once took an immense interest in it and went about as per Ned's instruction. Catelyn had to wonder just how much of a shock these devices must have been especially to a Maester of The Citadel.

And all of this was merely the beginning. Within days of Lord Eddard's return, Catelyn too had the opportunity to meet these foreigners for herself. She would forever remember the day when Lord Stark announced that several of these foreigners were to come to Winterfell for further negotiations, and that this delegation would be arriving in one of their flying "dragon-ships". In order to avoid any needless panic and chaos that the great beast would inevitably have caused upon its arrival, it had been agreed that the delegation would land somewhere in a clearing well away from Winterfell, and then proceed to the castle on horseback. Nevertheless, word had somehow gotten out, and a crowd of smallfolk from all the surrounding villages and hamlets had gathered at the site ahead of the Starks' delegation, eager to catch a glimpse of these fabled "sky peoples" who had by then had become the stuff of local legend. Even in the vast and sparsely populated North, it was amazing how quickly rumors could spread.

Ned had warned everyone there of what to expect. And yet still the arrival of the flying ship was something completely otherworldly and utterly terrifying to all those who bore witness to it. The great thunderous roar made by the beast; the great gusts of wind emerging from its wings. Catelyn had never seen anything quite like it before, and she was sure she probably would have fainted out of shock there and then if not for Ned's fortitude beside her. The sight and sound of the metal beast was enough to put all the horses and even the direwolf pups to panic (it was a fortunate thing, then, that Ned had ordered all of the animals tied up in anticipation of this). Several among the crowd had even fled the scene in fear. Even among the Stark children, the only ones not to express any fear at the spectacle of it all were Robb, who had seen it before, and Arya, whose natural curiosity and excitement seemed to outweigh any sense of dread before the shadow of that great winged beast. Otherwise, Sansa and Brandon were shocked and completely wide-eyed at the sight before them, but followed their father and mother's example and remained calm throughout the entire affair. Lady Catelyn was just grateful that she had had the good foresight to have left the youngest Rickon at Winterfell for the day.

In stark contrast to their dramatic entrance, and in contrast to the innumerable wonders they bore with them, the foreigners themselves were rather plain in appearance. Apart from a couple of dark-skinned Summer Islanders and Dornishmen who accompanied the party, they looked as if they could have passed for the Blood of the First Men, or of the Andals. The vestiments they clothed themselves in were plain and functional, devoid of any of the ostentatious colors and finery that Catelyn usually associated with exotic travelers from afar. And they all spoke the Common Tongue – some of them even in accents that Catelyn recognized, and had she not known better, would have placed them somewhere between Winterfell and the Reach.

The leader of this trading party, Lord Frederick of House Kovacs, was an intriguing character. Charming, tall, with dark, brooding looks, and rather personable in a conversation – once one managed to look past his scruffy hair and rather casual, un-lordly demeanor. He and his squire, Ser Daniel of the House Zimmerman, clearly must have been highborn nobility amongs their people, but they presented themselves in a down-to-earth manner that rather reminded Lady Caitlyn of her own lord husband's austerity. Nonetheless, Lady Catelyn could see beneath it all lay an air of confidence, intelligence, and (dare she say it?) _superiority_ that reminded her of an old acquaintance of hers down in King's Landing...

The rest of that day had been no less eventful: the sky-peoples had such incredible tales to tell. For starters, their dragon-ship, their "Falcon", was considered tiny next to the main ship that had brought them all the way to Westeros – a ship, they claimed, the size of a city and yet able to fly faster than a bolt of lightning.

The children, for the most part, seemed to have taken a liking to these foreigners after having gotten over their initial apprehension – especially Robb, who had been with Ned with they first met them, and Arya, whose adventurous spirit never failed her, and who seemed to find in these foreigners something she could admire. Perhaps it was their societal values? Catelyn quietly disapproved with many of the things that Lord Frederick spoke of over dinner, but she could understand the appeal these values would find among the base, plebeian classes.

But for all their charm and wonder, Catelyn found something fundamentally unsettling about the sky-people and their purposes here in The North. Yes, she was disturbed by the sight and sound of that dragon-ship. Yes, she was disturbed by the stories Ned had told her of the "fire arms" – Catelyn was not a trained warrior, but even she could see the applications of such forces on the field of battle. And yes, she was disturbed by the loose, almost _Dornish_, level of disregard these foreigners had for proper social conduct and hierarchy. That they seemed to have taken a liking to the bastard Jon, of all people, attested to this!

But what really disturbed Cat most of all was the fact that the sky-peoples had been like them once. That they had advanced from that stage to where they are now, and all within a few hundred years… all of this had completely upended Lady Catelyn's entire perception of the Realm, of history, of everything she had ever been taught up until then. And like her lord husband, she too could see that not all of the changes they would bring would be for the better.


	11. Daniel 1

**Main Compound, Colony of Autumn's Frontier**

**Northern Sector aka "The North"  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4  
**  
The bell rang at sunset, signaling the end of the working day. _And not a bloody moment too soon either_, thought Daniel. While his job was primarily a desk one, there would occasionally come times wherein he was needed outside to help supervise the works out in the field. This was one of those days.

The hundred or so helpers The Company™ had received from Winterfell thus far had been an immense boost to their efforts. Most of them were lowly serfs and subsistence farmers, who lived off of whatever they could grow. So it came as no surprise that many of them were grateful to have the chance to earn a few silver pieces on the side. Yeah, they were pretty backward and uneducated by Earth standards, but they were hard working and willing to learn, which is what mattered most. Right now, most of them were assigned to "low-skilled" manual labor positions, but Daniel and the other Company™ workers were keeping an eye out for any workers who might prove exceptionally skilled, or valuable in other ways, for receiving proper training.

Sure, the culture and technological shock had been a huge hurdle, but it was comforting that at least both The Company™ and the local EE-L4 natives spoke the same language – that being the language of gold and silver, of course. Right now, they were being accommodated in the new workers' barracks that were among the first of the new wooden buildings put up ever since the sawmill went into operation. Yeah, they needed to be brought up to modern standards in many areas – especially on _personal hygiene_ – but these workers were at least generally willing to learn.

Daniel also had to admit to himself that there was a certain joy to be found in exposing these workers to new opportunities, new possibilities. To see one of their faces light up the first time they were taught how to use the shower (_hot water? At the touch of a button? What sorcery is this?!_), or when one of the girls enlisted as a seamstress was shown a sewing machine for the first time – now that was just icing on the cake! Whatever the UN or anyone else said, there were always positive sides to The Company™'s treatment of the natives, in the new jobs and opportunities they created. Though to be fair, a large part of that was probably also due to the fact that these natives were, you know, actual goddamn Caucasian _homo sapiens_, and not just some random tribe of blue-skinned space furries.

And that so far, the workers' appreciation showed in the results they were getting. The mineral refinery was up and running and had so far managed to churn out about ten tons of refined iridium, and three of palladium. And this was just scratching the surface – geological scans had shown a vast wealth of other minerals in the local area, including several that the geology and chemistry departments still had to identify. The fabrication plant, the water treatment plant, the steel foundry, and the sawmill were all operational now, and a defensive stockade was also being erected to enclose the entire compound.

And a new road to Winterfell was well on its way. One of the things the last Valkyrie supply run from the _Horizonte_ had dropped off was "the Badger", a remote-controlled road-building machine, designed to chew through any terrain the universe could throw in its path, and leave a decently flat drivable surface behind it. On full road-building mode, one of these babies could cut a new road through even the thickest jungle at two miles per hour. The Badger had departed the day before, and so long as there weren't too many breakdowns and mechanical issues (which was why, despite being fully automated, the Badger was being accompanied by Engineers Donnelly and Adams – as well as a dozen men-at-arms from Winterfell to guard them), the new road would be finished in a few days... which meant then that they could take the truck to Winterfell next time. Good. Daniel could still remember the mass panic that erupted when they took one of the Falcon Gunships to go visit their host. Now that had almost been a total shitstorm. A truck was probably just as alien to these folks who looked like the cast of some Jorge R.R. de Martín novel, but it would probably cause a lot less of a ruckus than a flying machine.

Daniel walked back to the prefab unit that housed the colony's central headquarters to file his reports for the day. There, he found Fred being attended to by a couple of the serving girls from Winterfell – these seamstresses were currently engaged in stitching on the last few fittings onto… _something_ Fred was wearing.

"And what, exactly, is _that_?" said Daniel.

"Oh, this?" replied Fred, "well, round about now, all the folks back on Earth must be celebrating Halloween, so I figured I might as well join in too. Since I guess I'm now officially..." Fred put on a mocking upper-class British accent "...'His Most Esteemed Excellency Lord Sir Baron Frederick Kovacs of the House of The Company™', I thought I should try to look the part."

Fred's… uh… _lordly robes_ looked, to be completely honest, like something out of Shakespeare In The Park, that had been quickly and haphazardly stitched together by a couple of Medieval seamstresses introduced to modern sewing techniques for the first time (which, admittedly, it _was_), tailored out of a dark navy blue neosynthetic futuro-fabric, with The Company™'s golden spiral galaxy logo embroidered on the front as if it were some knight's coat-of-arms.

"I... I see. And, uh, doth Teller knoweth you weareth his drapes?" cut Daniel.

"I admit it could use some work. But I think it's fine for a first try. And Ros here is getting quite good with the sewing machine, aren't you? Eh?" The auburn-haired seamstress working on Fred's left sleeve only smiled back. Fred continued: "Here, I recommend that you have one tailored for yourself – I figured that if Teller wants us going around playing the "Knights Who Say Nee", we should at least try to blend in."

"Uh… I don't think that's what I would call 'blending in'…" remarked Daniel, but Fred ignored him.

"Besides," he continued, "we're meeting a king in few days; we have to have some decorum and show him that The Company™ means business – one-hundred-_and-one_-percent!"


	12. Timeline 1

**TIMELINE 1: The First Month**

**Day 00: Oct 01, 2154 C.E.  
Epsilon Eridani System, 10.5 Lightyears From Sol**  
+The _UNSV Belo Horizonte_ arrives after a 6-month voyage from Earth, the 950 crew members and passengers (consisting of Company™, United Nations, and independent contractors as well) aboard kept in cryogenic hibernation for much of the voyage due to the complications of Trans-Light Drive travel. Upon awakening, the crew is informed that the forward recon probes have discovered that the four habitable worlds of the system (designated EE-L0, L3, L4, and L5) are found to be already inhabited by intelligent life-forms, and that these native inhabitants are members of the species _Homo sapiens_ no less. Needless to say, this revelation is shocking and surprising to the crew, but Mission Director J. Teller is ordered by The Company™ board to proceed with colonization plans anyway.

**Day 01: Apr 21, 298 A.C. / Oct 02, 2154 C.E.**  
+Valkyrie 02 departs the _Horizonte_ under the command of Colony Director F. Kovacs, Assistant-Director D. Zimmerman, and Sergeant N. Hawthorne. Valkyrie 02 lands on Planet EE-L4, in the Northern sector of the planet's Western Continent (designated "Westeros" by the locals) in the middle of night. The Colony of Autumn's Frontier is founded and named after a vote among the colonists.  
+An old crofter witnesses a brilliant flash of blue light in the sky, a mysterious comet that seems to descend from the heavens and settles somewhere in the Wolfswood.

**Day 02: Apr 22  
Castle Winterfell, Kingdom Of The North**  
+Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, departs Winterfell to range the Wolfswood north of Winterfell and identify prime hunting grounds in anticipation of the arrival of his childhood friend and current liege lord, His Grace King Robert Baratheon I.

**Day 03: Apr 23  
Crofter's Village, The North**  
+Lord Eddard Stark arrives in the Crofter's Village and is told of "the comet".

**Day 04: Apr 24  
Colony of "Autumn's Frontier", The North**  
+Valkyrie 02 departs EE-L4 to return to the _UNSV Belo Horizonte_, now in orbit over Planet EE-L0. Valkyrie 04 arrives carrying additional supplies from the ship.  
+The lumber mill is now fully operational, along with a "flash kiln", which can flash-dry freshly felled timber, rather than taking months to naturally air-dry the wood.

**Day 05: Apr 25  
Autumn's Frontier**  
+Lord Eddard Stark meets Dir. Kovacs (whom he refers to as "Lord Kovacs" or "the Merchant Prince"). First Contact initiated between The Company™ and the planetary natives of EE-L4.  
+Sgt. Hawthorne gives the Westerosi a demonstration of his Stacker Assault Rifle.

**Day 06: Apr 26  
Autumn's Frontier**  
+The colony's quarry becomes operational. Lord Eddard Stark is the guest-of-honor at the launching. The Lord of Winterfell and his bannermen are introduced to the "magic" of chemical explosives (from a safe distance of course).  
+Falcon 03 and 04 arrive on EE-L4 from the _Belo Horizonte_. While the larger Valkyrie shuttle serves as a cargo hauler, the smaller Falcon shuttles are meant to serve as personnel transports.  
+After lengthy discussions and negotiation, Lord Stark and Dir. Kovacs sign an agreement for the rent of the land around "Autumn's Frontier".

**Day 07: Apr 27  
Autumn's Frontier**  
+Lord Stark and his company are "given a lift" back to Winterfell aboard Falcon 03. The experience proves rather exhilarating for the locals to put it mildly: Mr. Theon Greyjoy experiences the first bout of airsickness in all of Westeros since the Targaryen dragons died out. To avoid stirring a panic, the Falcon drops off its passengers in the woods 10 miles from Winterfell.  
+Autumn's Frontier's fabrication lab becomes operational. Simple products can now be mass produced (provided that the materials can be provided) – however, more complex mechanical devices and electronic components are still some weeks away.

**Day 08: Apr 28  
Autumn's Frontier**  
+The first ton of high-grade refined iridium is produced at the colony's mineral refinery.

**Day 09: Apr 29  
Autumn's Frontier**  
+The steel foundry becomes operational.

**Day 11: May 01  
Autumn's Frontier**  
+The first ten Westerosi-produced rifles (based on the 1871 Martini-Henry Rifle but modified somewhat for ease of manufacture and compatibility with UNCDF munitions) are completed. These are only meant to be prototypes made using only locally available materials – if field tests prove successful, than more will be produced and distributed.

**Day 12: May 02  
Winterfell**  
+Kovacs and Zimmerman pay an official diplomatic visit to Winterfell. They travel to the castle aboard Falcon 03. As before, they agreed to land 10 miles from the castle in order to avoid causing a panic among the locals. However, rumors spread like wildfire, and on the day of the event, a small crowd gathers to see the fabled "flying-ship". When Falcon 03 finally arrives, the sight and sound of it is so unexpected and terrifying that several people in the crowd faint, and two are injured when they disregarded Ned's advice of tying up their horses. The rest of the foreigner's diplomatic mission to Winterfell is relatively uneventful.

**Day 15: May 05  
Winterfell**  
+A hundred or so smallfolk, organized by Lord Stark, are gathered at Winterfell as candidates for The Company™ to employ.

**Day 19: May 09  
Autumn's Frontier**  
+A prototype Short Magazine Lee Enfield rifle chambered for 7.62mm ammunition is produced. If field tests prove successful, Sgt. Hawthorne intends to produce a few hundred of these as backup weapons to supplement the Martini-Henries.

**Day 27: May 17  
Autumn's Frontier**  
+The first hundred or so rounds of Westerosi-produced 7.62mm rounds roll off the production line. These rounds are made of steel rather than brass, as iron ore is in far greater abundance locally.

**Day 29: May 19  
Autumn's Frontier**  
+The first violent incident occurs. A roving band of bandits, lured by the rumors of the fabulous wealth brought by these foreigners, tries to raid Autumn's Frontier. They are detected by the colony's motion trackers, and swiftly dispatched by a pair of automated sentry turrets. Upon investigation of the incident, the Marines find four dead bandits and two injured ones. The latter two are detained for questioning.

**Day 30: May 20, 298 A.C. / Oct 31, 2154 C.E.  
Winterfell**  
+His Grace King Robert Baratheon is due to arrive at Winterfell, judging from raven dispatches.


	13. Tyrion 1

_**Foreword:** and here, at last, we have some of our favorite characters appear finally (as well as one of our unfavorite characters too). Important to note is that while this series takes mostly after the books but takes most of its visual cues from the TV show, one VERY important change is that the role of King Robert has been "recast" - in this series, he inspired by the one and only **BRIAN BLESSED**! Prepare thyself for much chewing of the scenery..._

* * *

**Tyrion (I)  
**  
In spite of the numerous monstrous stories people often spoke of him, Tyrion Lannister was actually a pretty decent, humane, and patient individual… well, by the standards of the Lannisters, anyway. Today, however, was not one of those days.

_If that bloody wagon breaks down one more bloody time,_ he thought to himself, _and if my... dear nephew doesn't stop complaining… I swear I'll strangle my sister myself one of these days! And maybe strangle him too until his face turns purple!_

The reasons for Tyrion's lack of patience at this moment in time were perfectly understandable to any rational human being, such pains-in-the-arse that his sister and nephew were. How in Seven Hells he had endured a hundred days on the road with those two in tow amazed even the Imp himself, though he supposed a large part of that lay in how he'd always had to live with them breathing down his neck. It's amazing what one could achieve when one had no choice in the matter.

For most of these days, Tyrion contented himself riding at the back of the train, some ways behind the Royal Wheelhouse – it was lonelier back there, sure, but better too. At least he did not have to think about any lords and sers and squires riding behind him, staring at him with little more than contempt for the monster that killed Lady Joana Lannister.

Anyway, at least they would be at Winterfell by that evening, Seven willing, and then he would finally set off on his own, out to see the marvels of the North for himself, visit the Wall, maybe even experience the local specialties of both the culinary and venereal kind…

There was another matter too that interested Tyrion: these foreigners he had heard about, who had travelled from beyond the Sunset Sea to do business here in Westeros. Why they had chosen the North of all places was beyond him – what did this Seven-forsaken land have of value that couldn't be found in the Westerlands, or the Reach?

But if any of the rumors told about these people were true, Tyrion knew better than to second-guess their motives. The tales were simply too marvelous: that they possessed a ship made entirely of metal, in the shape of a dragon that could fly and belch lightning and thunder; that each of these foreigners was an accomplished mage with the power to, I don't know, conjure light without a flame, or display moving pictures in the palm of a hand. Such a race of mages and alchemists must've had some very good reasons for choosing Lord Stark's realm, and until he could meet them for himself, Tyrion decided to let them have the benefit of the doubt.

The caravan suddenly ground to a stop.

"Oh, bloody fock me! Not again!" scowled a voice from ahead, one that could only have belonged to the Hound of Clegane. "What is this, the _hundredth_ fockin' time?"

"Suspension's slipped again," called Ser Vylarr, kneeling down to inspect the underside of the Queen's 40-horse monstrosity of a road-worthy vehicle. "Bloody Northern backwater roads. I can have it fixed by nightfall."

"Well, what are you waiting for then?" screeched the bitchqueen, leaning half-out of one of her caravan's windows, "get to it!"

"Mommy, are we there yet?" cried the Prince, appearing at the window beside his mother.

_Here we go again_, sighed Tyrion. He could have sworn that somewhere in this world there must be a place where caravans are regularly smashed, thrown off cliffs, burned to cinders and ashes, strung from cranes and played conkers with, and in all other manner of creative ways _mutilated_ for the purposes of entertainment. Entrusting his sister's mighty 40-horse-whorehouse in their possession was about the nicest thing Tyrion could think to do with it.

"Are we there yet?!" screamed the Royal Brat again.

"Oh, for the love of the Seven, just shut up will ya?" snapped the Hound.

"ENOUGH!" roared a voice that made everyone else shut up immediately, lest they find themselves at the business end of a great warhammer. Tyrion looked up to see His Grace riding back to the wheelhouse from his usual spot at the front of the procession. "OTHERS take YOU! You and that RUDDY great WHEELHOUSE of yours!" He turned around, "LUMPY! How FAR are we NOW?"

"Your Grace!" called Ser Lancel Lannister, the King's squire, pouring through a copy of the great tome _The Hitchhiker's Guide To The North_ by Lomas Longstrider, "it should be only a half-dozen miles from here!"

"Now LOOK 'ere!" roared the Great Stag again, addressing everyone this time. "I did NOT travel o'er a THOUSAND fuckin' MILES over this blank SHITE of a countryside… only to be STOPPED at the last SIX! I intend to RIDE the rest of the way to WINTERFELL! By MYSELF, if need be! I've waited TOO LONG for this! Either you RIDE with me, or you STAY here if that please YOU!"

With that, the Great Stag of Baratheon bounded off on his destrier, with an air of purpose and majesty not seen since the Trident, all those many years ago. Perhaps the Stark girl had something to do with it.

* * *

It was late in the afternoon that the party finally drew within sight of the great walls and turrets of Winterfell, though the castle gates were still two miles away. Nevertheless, Tyrion glimpsed in the distance a party of men on horseback racing to greet the King. It seemed that Lord Stark had heard by now of the wheelhouse malfunction that had befallen his friend, and had ridden out personally to meet him.

Yes, the one at the head of this party was Lord Stark alright. Even after nine years since he had last been in the capital, he hadn't changed one bit. Robert, on the other hand, was another matter entirely…

It was then that Tyrion noticed something just behind Lord Stark. At first, it looked like a light carriage of sorts, but as it drew closer, the Halfman realized that this carriage moved of its own accord, completely lacking horses, or any discernible source of motive power for that matter. It also produced a sound unlike anything the Imp had ever heard before. And its entire body was crafted not of wood, but of iron painted green.

The occupants of this horseless carriage were no less bizarre. There were four of them, all seated. The front two were dressed in full-body plate, but painted green, just like their chariot. Tyrion deduced that one of them was controlling this vehicle in the way that a coachman controls his horses, while the other served as a guard. The two figures in the back were clad in two rather garish blue robes with what looked to be the sigil of their house stitched onto the front: a kind of golden spiral of some sort.

As the two parties drew near, both halted, dismounted, and proceeded to greet one another on foot. The King, of course, was the first to initiate contact, practically throwing himself upon the poor Old Wolf in one of the most aggressive hugs Tyrion had ever seen. Lord Stark, for his part, seemed rather taken aback, by this, and understandably too, for Tyrion could vaguely recall that the Stag used to be half his current girth whence they had last met one another, back in the days of the Greyjoy Rebellion. The King, however, was in great haste to make it to Winterfell, and so after being quickly introduced to the merchant prince and his small party, the Great Stag and the Old Wolf rode off to the castle, hardly batting an eyelid to anyone else.

No sooner had the two old dogs run off, when the lead merchant stepped forward and politely introduced himself to the rest of the company.

"I am Lord Frederick of the House of Kovacs," he said, kneeling before the Queen. "This is my, uh, squire, Ser Daniel of the House Zimmerman, and my… bannermen Ser Nathan Hawthorne and _Dame_ Isabel Rodriguez. It is an honor to meet you, Your Majesty. I've heard many, uh, _glorious_ things about your Noble House." He seemed to be struggling to find anything else nice to say, although Tyrion could not blame him; at this point, all the foreigners knew of the lions of Casterly Rock must have come from the mouths of Northmen, and the Lannisters were not particularly well-loved up here.

"Charmed," replied Queen Cersei in her return attempt at politeness, "and I've heard many things of you too, Lord Frederick Kovacs." The Merchant Prince then turned to face Joffrey…

"We of The Company are most humbled by your presence, Your Royal Highness. I have heard many great things about you too. You have Her Highness the Queen's fine golden hair, and His Grace the King's… uh…" Lord Kovacs was trying to be polite, but it was clear that words had escaped him. "Uh… _courage_, um, yes, that's it! You have His Majesty The King's great courage!"

"I, uh, thank you," said the Prince, not quite sure what to make of it. "I heard your company have many great sorcerers. Perhaps you would perform some magic for me right now?"

"All in good time, Your Excellency," continued the merchant prince, rising back to his feet. "We are sorry to hear about your caravan's malfunction. Perhaps we may offer the services of our Cat here to tow it back to Winterfell, where we can have a mechanic look at it?"

In spite of these foreigners' gracious offer of assistance, the Queen brushed him off. "I … thank you kindly, Lord Kovacs, but I must respectfully decline. My wheelhouse requires the services of no less than forty horses to pull it; I worry it would be too… _burdensome_ for your little carriage here to pull."

"Your Majesty, our 'little carriage' here has a _900 horsepower _engine," insisted Frederick, "she's plenty strong enough for you, m'lady."

Cersei, while taken aback, looked like she wasn't ready to concede to these foreigners anything just yet. "Oh, uh, thank you again Lord Kovacs… but I, ahem, must again respectfully decline. The problem with the Royal Wheelhouse was clearly the fault of our Lord Mechanist, for failure to adequately repair the axel last time it broke down. Rest assured, for him to stay out there however long it takes to perform the needed repairs shall be a suitable punishment for him."

"As you wish, m'lady," smiled Lord Frederick, "but the offer still stands… if you ever have a change of heart." He winked. He then turned to face Tyrion and extended a hand of greeting. "And you, I presume, are Lord Tyrion Lannister?" Lord Frederick was obviously well meaning and trying to appear courteous, though Tyrion could see his sister and nephew both scowl slightly as this foreigner's impudence in addressing the Imp by the title 'Lord'.

"A delight to meet you, Lord Frederick," said Tyrion, returning the handshake. "I trust that the Starks have treated you with our legenedary Westerosi hospitality. If not, welcome to the Seven Kingdoms all the same. I look forward to what I hope will be prosperous times ahead for all of our parties. Perhaps I may also convince your traders to come down to visit the Rock one of these days? The Westerlands have quite a bit to offer…"

"I would be most honored by the prospect, Lord Tyrion," smiled the Merchant Prince. "And worry not, for we have come many long miles to come to your realm, and we don't intend to leave too quickly. I'm sure you'll find us at the Rock sooner than you would think!"

"So …" cut in the Crown Prince, clearly annoyed at how the Halfman was taking attention away from him, "…are all the tales I've heard true? Are you _really_ a powerful mage king from beyond the Sunset Sea?"

"Well, ha, stories of our abilities are somewhat exaggerated," laughed Frederick, "but we do have a few tricks up our sleeves."

"Show me!" commanded the Prince.

"Absolutely. Perhaps Your Grace would like to take a ride in the Cat?"

"That thing?" sneered the Prince, "that's smaller than my mother's wheelhouse! What can it do?"

"Oh, just wait and see, Your Grace!" spoke Lord Frederick, who then turned around and called out to his bannermen. "Sergeant! Give his royal highness a joy ride to the castle! The _ultimate offroad experience_, if you will – he needs to see what the Cat is capable of! Once you've dropped him off, come back for the rest of us."

_Oh, this will be good_, thought the Halfman to himself as he watched Lord Frederick lead the Crown Prince and his Hound back to their horseless carriage for the ride. However, he soon found that his bemusement was very much short-lived…

"Go with my little Joff," sneered the Queen in his ears, just out of earshot from the foreigners, "and make sure these people do nothing to him… or else you had better pray they kill you too."

_Well… shit_, thought Tyrion.


	14. Appendix 3: Wild Cat Vehicle

**UNITED NATIONS COLONIAL DEFENSE FORCE (est. 2096)**  
_Ad Astra Per Aspera ("Reach for the stars, through adversity")_

**Database Entry 2186:**  
**L.M.P.U.V.-19 "WILD CAT" Utility Vehicle**

**Type**: Light Multi-Purpose Utility Vehicle  
**Introduced**: 2125  
**Producer**: Atlas Mechanics Corp.  
**Length**: 6.35m (20.8ft)  
**Weight**: 2.8 metric tons (6,173lb)  
**Engine**:  
+900 horsepower Electric Synchronous Motor (ESM) + 8 SLS38 Lithium Air Batteries  
+300 horsepower backup hydrogen-injected I6 Internal Combustion Engine  
**Range**: 1,600km (1,000miles)  
**Max. Speed**:  
+Road: 240km/h (150mph)  
+Off-road: 120km/h (75mph)  
**Crew**: 1 driver  
**Transmission**: 6-speed semi-automatic transmission  
**Passengers**: driver + front seat passenger + 4 rear seat passengers (6 total)  
**Armaments**:  
+1 rear hardpoint (see below)

**Notes &amp; History**:

The LMPUV-19 "Wild Cat" is one of the most common light utility wheeled-vehicles of its kind in service in various militaries and private companies throughout Earth and her Colonies. It is neither the fastest nor the toughest vehicle of its kind, but its all-around decent performance in most environs (helped by its 44-inch tires, excellent suspension, and high ground clearance), and its relatively low cost compared to other options on the market, make it a top seller. In fact, their low-cost and reliability is a major reason why wheeled vehicles are still commonplace in the 22nd century, and haven't yet been completely phased out by newer (but more expensive and less reliable) hover-vehicles.

The Cat's eight SLS38 batteries enable it to operate for up to thirty hours on a single charge, even in oxygen-poor environments. The standard production model also features a backup I6 injected hydrogen internal combustion engine, in case the primary motors are disabled by electromagnetic disruptor weapons. However, this feature is often removed in order to reduce weight and improve performance, and also because it is useless in atmospheres low in oxygen.

As opposed to the civilian version, military versions of the Cat are usually tougher and heavier, equipped with an additional 900kg of titanium nanocomposite armor integrated into the chassis, bulletproof glass windshields, as well as a single hardpoint in the rear (in place of the passenger seating area) where a turret weapon can be mounted, such as a heavy machine gun, an automatic grenade launcher, or even a Gauss magnetic coilgun.


	15. Jon 2

**Jon (II)**

It was amazing how much a single month could transform Winterfell beyond recognition. The inflow of gold and goods from the foreigners had left enough of a change on the Great Hall than even the Lannisters, of all people, looked impressed – probably something to do with the flameless lanterns that glowed brighter than any fire, using only the captured energy of the sun. The foreigners had started selling other things too – small things, like medicines and these potions they called "fertilizers" that could boost the productivity of the soil far beyond any ordinary manure.

But it was the flameless lanterns that quite literally outshone all the other new goods on the market, and from what Jon heard, the foreigners were now selling them for the low-low price of "only" another acre of land here or there, or perhaps a month's labor at their quarry. As he dug his teeth into another leg of finely roasted and seasoned chicken, Jon could have sworn that the food and drink had gotten better too.

As a bastard, Jon Snow was not permitted to sit at the high table with the rest of his half-brothers and sisters – especially not in the presence of the King himself. Instead, he had to sit with the rest of the squires and bannermen, though he didn't seem to mind too much: for starters, he could drink all he liked, while his half-siblings were only permitted but a single glass of wine each.

They were all gathered at the high table – Direwolves, Stags, and Lions alike, as well as Lord Frederick and a couple of his squires – all dressed in their finery and looking regal. Well, all of them except for the Crown Prince and his uncle, the Imp. Prince Joffrey was splendidly decked out in his crimson robes, though he also looked rather ghostly pale and didn't eat much save for some porridge – Jon heard it from a reliable source that the little lion and his uncle were still recovering from a bout of what the foreigners called "motion sickness" after this afternoon's joyride in that vehicle they called a "Wild Cat".

Lord Frederick was currently showing off to the young Southron ladies yet another of his marvelous devices he carried – it was a small, thin, palm-sized silver box that would emit a blue light that create more of those moving pictures that shown… well, whatever Fred could think of. As far as Jon could tell, the King had already taken a liking to these funny foreigners and their sorcery. To be feasting by the King's side? These strangers had achieved in a month what Jon could never have in a lifetime… and all because of a shameful name he would be condemned to carry with him for the rest of his life.

Jon was used to it though, and for whatever it was worth, there were the occasional up-sides to it… like drinking all he wanted down here in the low tables, away from Lady Catelyn's prying eyes. He tore off another leg as a plate of chicken was passed around, and threw the scraps from the previous course down to Ghost, who happily gnawed away.

"What's a fine noble lad like you doin' down here?" came a strong and commanding voice from behind. "Shouldn't you be up with your brothers and sisters?"

"I'm not a Stark," said Jon, bluntly, and continued eating.

"Is that so?" said Sergeant Hawthorne, taking a seat on the bench next to him. For once, the veteran warrior wasn't wearing his full suit of plate; instead, he wore a dark blue tunic with gold buttons, which he called his 'Marine dress blues'. "That's a shame," he continued, "you seem as worthy as anyone else to bear that name."

"I don't think _she_ would approve – not in front of the King at least," said Jon, rolling his eyes, and the Sergeant could see whom he was referring to.

"You know," said Hawthorne, "where we come from, it's not birth that makes you a real man."

"So what is it then?" said Jon.

"Why, serving in the Marines, of course," the Sergeant laughed gruffly, "well, according to the recruitment ads at least. Tell me: how old are you boy?"

"I'm not a boy!" said Jon, defiantly, "I'll be fifteen at my next nameday!"

"Is that so? You look a little older than that."

"Maester Luwin says that bastards grow up faster than everyone else."

"I'd imagine so, given what you have to go through. You know, your father and I will begin training the first batch of rifles in a few days… The Company's new militia could always do with a fine strong lad like you."

That last line awakened something within Jon. _A rifleman? Him? Using one of those fabled 'fire-arms'?_ It was almost too good to believe. Jon had to wonder if it was because someone else wanted him out of Winterfell for good…

"What d'ya say to that?" pressed the Sergeant. "You look like you'd make a pretty good shot. Your brother, Robb? Him too, probably… and his friend, though it looks like they have more lordly duties to attend to…" Hawthorne stole a glance over at Robb and Theon, who were busy entertaining little Princess Myrcella.

"I'm in," declared Jon, without giving it a second thought, "I want to be a rifleman."

"That's a good lad," said the Sergeant, as he stood up to head back to the main table. "A truckload of fresh recruits will depart Winterfell tomorrow morning for the colony. In case you have second thoughts, I won't take it personally. I'm warning you though: life in the Corps definitely ain't easy. It'll be hard. There'll be times you'll struggle and fail. But you'll ultimately emerge from it a stronger man… and maybe with a dental plan and a generous retirement package too if you're lucky. Welcome aboard, _Private_ Snow."


	16. Daniel 2

**Guest Quarters  
Castle Winterfell, Kingdom of the North  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4**

Daniel stumbled back into the guest quarters, having had maybe one too many glasses of the honeyed mead. Or was it the wine? Quite frankly, he couldn't remember. He did like the room though: the place looked a lot nicer and cleaner now, thanks to The Company™'s influence (he could well remember the first time he stayed there and the number of fleas and bedbugs he had to zap before the place was up to standard).

"M'lord!" called Desmera, getting up from the bed (she was the 'bedwarmer' assigned to his chamber for the night). Daniel paused to admire her comely figure for a second. He had to admit she was a rather pretty one: green eyes that shone even in the low candle light, silky raven hair that ran all the way down to those full, round breasts of hers… The only thing she was wearing at this moment was a plastic band around her left wrist, indicating that she was one of those who had been scanned and 'cleaned up' by The Company™'s medical team that had visited the castle days before (after all, one never knew what nasty bugs lurked in the darkest, ahem, _corners _of this planet-sized Renaissance faire).

"Hang on there, this'll just take a minute," smiled Daniel as he sat down at the foot of the bed and quickly downed a couple of The Company™'s anti-inebriation meds. Wonderful things, these drugs – no matter how much you had to drink, a couple of these tablets would clear your head (and a few other things too) in just a few minutes. Given how much Daniel had seen the King wash down tonight, he was certain he could sell a single bottle of these meds to the King for, say, a few more square miles of land. Now that would be the biggest steal since the Dutch bought Manhattan…

Without warning, a blue light began to glow on his desk. Desmera was startled by this, but Daniel knew immediately what it was. _Shit, I totally didn't need this right now!_ "Quick! Stay there and be quiet!" he blurted at the girl, throwing the thick fur covers over her. Poor gal didn't know what was going on, but she obeyed all the same and stayed completely still. He then quickly turned and tried as best he could to compose himself in the few seconds he had before the blue light fully materialized itself into the holographic form of Mr. Jonathan P. Teller…

"Mr. Teller!" said Daniel, "what an unexpected surprise! I… uh…"

"Mr. Zimmerman! You're three hours late for filing your report," scowled Teller. "You wouldn't answer, so I had to have VENI override the manual lock on your MyPhone."

"Wait, you're bringing _VENI_ into this?"

"Yes," said Teller, "the Board doesn't like how things are going, so they've authorized the release of VENI, VIDI, and VICI to help us out here. So tell me: what's going on? Where's Fred? I've been trying to reach him, but he seems to have turned off his MyPhone."

_I shoulda done that too_... "Fred? Oh, he's… uh…" Daniel paused for a sec. Even through the thick stone castle walls, he could vaguely make out the shrill moans and grunts emanating from Fred's room next door. Fortunately, the audio-inputs on these cell phones were not as sensitive as the human ear… "Fred's, uh, still with the King, sir. Yes! You know these Westerosi, always drinking and partying into the wee hours of the morning…"

"Well, I suppose that as long as you're doing your jobs…" fumed Teller, "…so tell me, what's the situation? Any success with this King?"

"He's a... bit of a hooligan… but friendly, yes. Lord Stark and him used to be BFFs or something. He seemed rather charmed with all the little goodies we shown him. A week from now, we'll be taking him up to the colony as well. I think we'll be able to work out some sort of deal with him for at least the next few months. Maybe a few years if we're lucky."

"Good, that's more like it," said Teller, "remember to try and get some of the southern lands this time, the ones with the pleasant Mediterranean climate, okay? We get some beachfront real estate ready by the time the UN film crew arrives, I guarantee you buyers back home will go apeshit over that stuff. Did you meet anyone else?"

"Yeah, the rest of the Royal Family – all one worse than the other. The Queen, quite frankly, is a bit of a royal bitch, and her son is even worse. Little shithead. Fred had the Sarge give him a little 'thrill ride' in the Cat, and that shut him up real well. The only half-decent person among them is the Halfman."

"The who?" inquired Teller.

"The Halfman. They call him that because he's a dwarf."

"Wait, there are _dwarves_ on EE-L4 _too_?" inquired Teller incredulously.

"No, sorry, he's a dwarf like a midg… like a person with dwarfism. He's the Queen's brother."

"Ah, I see," said Teller, "anyway, look, just do me a favor and tread carefully next time, okay? Shithead or not, if this Prince is gonna be the next king, you might want to be a little more respectful towards him. Remember: winning over an existing leader is always a helluva lot easier than removing him and installing a new one. Trust me on this; we're The Company™, we've been down that road before."

"Got it, sir," said Daniel, "but it looks like we're on the King's good side for now. He's asked Ned to be his next Hand Of The King."

"Hand of the…? Oh right, that's like the locals' equivalent of a Prime Minister or something?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Ned's having doubts, but I think he'd be good for the job… good for our interests too."

"Good. For the love of God, Daniel, please try and keep things that way, okay?" said Teller. "We've already got a major war brewing here on Planet EE-L5. We're trying to send a diplomatic mission to try and talk some sense into this 'Mordor', but it looks like they've been on the warpath for years before we arrived, and I don't think we'll be able to prevent it. Oh, and don't even get me started on EE-L0! Django and Saito haven't even left yet, and they're already requesting permission to deploy some of the heavier assets. Point is: your planet is the only peaceful one right now, so please keep it that way, okay? Is that too much to ask for?"

"No sir," said Daniel, rather meekly.

"Good. Is there anything else I should know?"

"No sir," said Daniel again.

"Are you guys still an effective team?"

"One hundred _and one_ percent, sir!"

"Good. I'm sending VENI down to join you on the next Valkyrie run - yes, together with Inspector Lynn. Make sure they're well accommodated. In the mean time, please try and file your next report on time, okay? You don't know what I'm dealing with here on L5 – I shouldn't have to babysit you guys as well. Over and out." With that, the holographic projection of Jonathan Teller dissipated, once more leaving only the light from a few candles.

Daniel sighed. "You never heard any of that, okay?" he said, as Desmera slowly emerged from her hiding place beneath the thick fur covers.

"That depends, m'lord," she smiled back. "But I'll take most secrets to the grave for a gold dragon. So... who is this 'Veni' Lord Teller spoke of?"


	17. Fred 2

_**Foreword**: as stated before, it is helpful to imagine that the role of King Robert in this story is being played by BRIAN BLESSED. Hence, the gratuitous capitalizations..._

* * *

**En route to Autumn's Frontier  
Approx. 10 miles from Winterfell  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4**

"This is MARVELOUS!" roared the King, once again reminding everyone that the concept of an 'indoor voice' did not apply to him. "BLOODY BRILLIANT, I say!" he roared again.

The King and several of his attendant lords were seated in the cargo area of the truck, along with Fred, Daniel, and Sgt. Hawthorne. The rest of his entourage travelled in the second truck following close behind. Pvt. Rodriguez and Billings drove one of the Wild Cats right in front, serving as the pilot car for this small road convoy.

The new road between Winterfell and the colony had been completed only just a few days previously – it was still pretty rough, but nothing the trucks couldn't handle, save for the occasional bump. Still, that wasn't enough to put a dampener on the King's spirits; he seemed to be taking in every moment they were on the road like a giddy schoolboy on a rollercoaster for the first time.

"AMAZING!" roared the King again, clearly enjoying the feeling of the wind rushing through his hair. "How FAST does this great BEAST of yours ride, Lord FREDERICK?"

"Well, we average about forty miles per hour on these roads," explained Fred, "on a proper paved surface, she'll make up to a hundred easily with a full load."

"A proper PAVED surface? These roads are far BETTER than any I've ever SEEN!"

To transport the King and his party, Fred had approved the diversion of two of the colony's eleven Kodiak trucks. This had would reduce quarry productivity by a little for the day, though he was sure the impression they would make on the continent's designated sovereign would more than justify this brief lull in production.

"And how LONG would it TAKE to do the entire KINGSROAD like THIS?" inquired the King. "And how MUCH will it COST?"

"Price and time will all depend greatly on the terrain," answered Daniel, "but if most of this Kingsroad is anything like what we've seen, I'd give the Badger about three-and-a-half months – give or take the occasional breakdown."

"PAH, don't tell ME about BREAKDOWNS!" scowled the King, and Fred could tell from the look on his face that he didn't exactly cherish the prospect of the three-month return journey to the capital with the Ice Queen and that ruddy great wheelhouse of hers. Fred figured that there was a good reason the Queen decided to stay in Winterfell for today, along with all her attendants and bannermen – not that she would be particularly missed.

"I'm sure we can reach some sort of agreement," said Fred, smiling, "but now that you mention it, some beachfront real estate would sure be nice, Your Majesty."

"Ask for it, and it SHALL be YOURS!" roared the King. He sat back down. "I believe the NICEST BEACHES are all down in the WESTERLANDS and the REACH. DORNE too, if you FANCY yourself SOME of the local _SPICY_ fare! You know, now that you MENTION it, Lord TYWIN just so HAPPENS to be the FATHER of Cersei and HALFSY here…"

"Uh, Your Grace?" interjected Tyrion Lannister, "the Crown is already several million Gold Dragons in debt to my lord father and..."

"BAH, HUMBUG!" bawled the King, dismissively. "Your FATHER has NO IDEA yet what Lord FREDERICK here can do for HIM!" He paused, and turned back to face Fred. "Say, speak of the STRANGER, that gives me an IDEA. Why don't YOU come down to the CAPITAL with us? With your 'TRUCKS', it would only take a few DAYS to get there!"

"Oh, I'm sure I can do a lot better than that, Your Highness!" smirked Fred.

* * *

**Main Compound  
Autumn's Frontier  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4**

Whatever wonders the new road and the trucks were for the King were nothing compared to what lay at the colony itself. Within the last five weeks, Autumn's Frontier had completely transformed, from little more than a clearing for the Valkyrie to land, to an entire self-contained town. By now, 280 people – 91 of The Company™'s staff from Earth, 9 UN Colonial Marines, and 180 local laborers provided by Winterfell – were accommodated in a mixture of plastic tents, prefabricated units, and new wooden barracks and houses. At the back of the compound, a large, low, warehouse-like structure, constructed entirely from prefabricated steel sheets and girders, now housed the steel foundry and fabrication lab that gave this small village an industrial output easily on par with the whole of the Seven Kingdoms combined.

Similar but separate structures contained the colony's chemical plant, the mineral refinery, the central fusion reactor that provided the colony's power, an aircraft hangar where the two smaller "Falcon" shuttles were kept, as well as a large treatment and recycling plant where all sewage and toxic mining by-products were processed into something far safer. Meanwhile, a series of newly completed wooden buildings built along the perimeter contained the greatly expanded sawmill, the workers' barracks, the vehicle garages and repair workshops, and the kitchen and mess hall facilities. The Colonial Marines and the first batch of native militiamen-in-training almost had a mini-compound of their own, with their separate barracks, exercise yard, shooting range, and the armory. Finally, at the center of the colony, a large building was taking shape, built from prefabricated sections flown in by the Valk; it housed the colony's central command and communications hub, as well as the research labs and the medical center. The entire compound was now surrounded by an 8-foot stockade, with LED floodlights, motion-sensors, and auto-turrets emplaced every couple hundred meters or so. All in all, Autumn's Frontier was a microcosm of the great changes in store for the Realm – an entire Industrial Revolution contained within a couple square miles.

Towards the back of the base, near to the large clearing that served as an airfield, fresh one-ton ingots of refined iridium, palladium, and eridanium were being stacked onto pallets by HULK-units, ready to be loaded onto the next outbound Valkyrie flight. Meanwhile, separate ingots of other minerals were kept on the side – these simply weren't profitable enough to expend the vast amounts of energy needed to haul them into orbit, load them onto the _Horizonte_, and ship them all the way back to Earth. However, they would prove valuable down the line as The Company™'s presence on this planet grew, and with it, its insatiable appetite for ever more and more raw materials.

Perhaps just as impressive to the natives, being a culture entirely dependent on manual labor as they were, was the massive hole in the ground that sat about a mile north of the compound. Fred was told that quarries like this had only ever existed back in that fabled native civilization called Old Valyria, where tens of thousands of slaves had labored for centuries. Thanks in no small part to the "magic" of modern mechanization and mining explosives, The Company™ had achieved a similar result within only four weeks of excavation.

For all of its splendor and novelty, however, Autumn's Frontier was not without its limitations. For starters, the colony lacked any source of food or agriculture other than whatever rations had been brought from Earth aboard the _UNSV_ _Belo H__orizonte_. Now, with its vastly expanded workforce (as well as the fact that no one in their right mind would touch a rehydratable meal with a ten-foot pole if they could help it), the colony had grown increasingly reliant on shipments of grain, cattle, and fresh produce trucked in every week from Winterfell. For these, The Company™ paid either in gold, or in tradable goods like fertilizers, simple mechanical clocks, solar-powered LED lights, or just simple tools like saws and hammers that their fabricators could churn out by the dozen.

The other major issue was that of waste disposal: for every ton of the good stuff came a couple dozen or so tons of waste, some of it rather toxic. The quarry had only been operational for a month, but the waste treatment plant was already pretty seriously overloaded. Here, activated carbon nano-fullerenes, thanks to their absorptive properties, were used to soak up most of the worst toxins, though the resultant powder was still nasty enough that you wouldn't want to breath the stuff. Even their fusion power reactor wasn't able to annihilate everything. The remaining waste was simply trucked out to a designated rubbish tip about a dozen klicks away.

The trees surrounding that dump were already starting to slowly wither and die, and Fred had to admit that he sure wasn't jealous of the poor buggers tasked with waste disposal duties. Even with proper hazmat gear brought in from Earth, he didn't expect them to live that much longer than the average lifespan of most other Westerosi peasants. Still, though, surely the benefits that came with working for The Company™ – good pay, clean living quarters, three square meals a day, access to 22nd century medicine – surely those all outweighed the shortcomings?

In the long term, Fred's plan for waste disposal was to build a pipeline, which he aimed to have completed within the next seven months. Mining waste could then be ground up into a fine powder and mixed with water, and then the resultant slurry could be pumped out to… well, anywhere really, as long as it was far away from the colony. With a continent as big and sparsely populated as this, they could potentially dump it anywhere and no one would ever notice. Hey, maybe given enough time, Fred would have the pipeline extended up to and over that Wall of theirs. I mean, what better place to stash several billion tons of toxic sludge than behind a bigass ice wall, right? That way, they could at least preserve the real estate value of all the land south of that wall.

Of course, all of these technical details would be lost on these poor, ignorant, backwards people who, to the best of Fred's understanding, hadn't even moved beyond the windmill in the last few thousand years. So he was to believe that the Realm had been this way for 8,000 years? Give me a break. Maester Luwin seemed warm and well meaning and genuinely curious and inquisitive into the principles behind their technology, but Fred wasn't so sure the same could be said for the rest of these natives. Well, time to shake things up then: time to throw out the old farts and their antiquated world-views and silly superstitions that were holding this place back. Look out, Westeros, the scientific method has arrived!

And so Fred extended his hospitality to his guests, eager to show them just what human ingenuity and innovation was capable of, but more importantly, to impress upon them that The Company™ was not merely some passing curiosity, some traveling freak show from Easteros or whatever the fuck they called the Eastern Continent on this planet. No, The Company™ was here to stay. _"Here for you, here for good,"_ or so our tagline goes. And he rather enjoyed the wonder and amazement in their eyes at every new twist and turn… that, perhaps coupled with the realization that thanks to Lord Stark's dealings with The Company™, The North was well poised to become the wealthiest of all Seven Kingdoms. And soon enough, the rest of the Realm would have no choice but to either accept The Company™ and their way of doing things, or else be left far behind by the long march of history, science, and progress.

* * *

It was late in the tour, as the King's party was marvelling at the size and scope of the quarry, that Fred heard his MyPhone buzzing. Excusing himself and leaving Daniel in charge of the guests, he went off and answered it.

"Mr. Kovacs, this is Pvt. Khedira," came the voice of the Marines' electronics and communications specialist.

"What's going on?" said Fred. "Don't tell me it's Teller wanting an update again. Seriously, that dude's gotta calm his tits or he'll blow a fuse one of these days."

"It's not that, sir," said the private, "we've got a distress call from Winterfell."

_Oh, shit_. Fred had left a solar-powered two-way radio there as a gift a couple weeks ago, but the Starks so far hadn't used it – they were probably too afraid, too suspicious of this alien technology or something. That they finally worked up the balls to use it meant something serious must have happened.

"It's Lord Stark's son, sir," continued the private, "the middle one: Brandon, right? Apparently, he's just fallen out of a window or something, and Lady Stark's now freaking the hell out, screaming for any help she can get."

_Oh SHIT!_ thought Fred, _Fuck, that couldn't be good at all..._


	18. Appendix 4: Kodiak Truck

**UNITED NATIONS COLONIAL DEFENSE FORCE (est. 2096)**  
_Ad Astra Per Aspera_

**Database Entry 2143:**  
**M.P.U.T.-7 "KODIAK" TRUCK**

**Type**: Multi-Purpose Utility Truck  
**Introduced**: 2035 (first generation); 2143 (eleventh generation)  
**Manufacturer**: The Company™  
**Length**: 15m (50ft)  
**Weight**: 22 metric tons (48,500lb) (standard model)  
**Engine**:  
+3,000 horsepower Electric Synchronous Motor (ESM) + 12 HLS39 Lithium Air Batteries  
+700 horsepower backup hydrogen-injected V8 Internal Combustion Engine  
**Range**: 800km (500 miles)  
**Max. Speed**: (depends on cargo)  
+Road: 160km/h (100mph)  
+Off-road: 80km/h (50mph)  
**Crew**: 1 driver  
**Transmission**: 5-speed semi-automatic transmission  
**Passengers**:  
+Seating for up to 6 (incl. driver) in the cab  
+Dozens can sit in the cargo area (depending on cargo configuration)  
**Cargo Capacity**: 100 metric tons (220,000lb)  
**Armaments**:  
+Unarmed (standard configuration)  
+Military version: variable (see below)

**Notes &amp; History**:

The Company™'s line of "Kodiak" trucks has been in production for over a century – it's a testament to its rugged yet flexible design that the basic shape of the vehicle has remained unchanged despite innumerable advances in metal alloys, engines, optics, and other improvements to each new generation of the Kodiak. Its offroad capabilities (thanks to its excellent suspension and 12-wheel arrangement that distributes its weight over a dozen 44-inch tires) and articulated design make the Kodiak a favorite among many offworld colonies.

One of the successes of the Kodiak lies in its modular design: everything from the chassis up, including the cab, is designed to be interchangeable, allowing the truck to be relatively quickly and easily customized to do just about anything. The truck can also be remote-controlled, or else piloted by an A.I., thus eliminating the need for a driver at all.

The most common and flexible permutation is the standard "flatbed" variant that can carry just about anything that will fit on the bed, including shipping containers, prefab units, or other vehicles. Other civilian variants include: a fuel tanker, a dump truck, a truck-mounted crane, and a firefighting vehicle. The military version is much heavier, with over two tons of titanium armor integrated into the cab and chassis, and serves various roles, as a troop transport, or as a mobile platform for missile launchers, radar stations, or anti-aircraft lasers.


	19. Appendix 5: HULK Unit

**Database Entry 1986:**  
**HEAVY UTILITY LIFTER / KONSTRUCTION ("HULK") Mk. III UNIT**

**Type**: powered utility exoskeleton  
**Introduced**: 2066 (Mk. I); 2093 (Mk. II); 2136 (Mk. III)  
**Manufacturer**: The Company™  
**Height**: 4.8m (16ft)  
**Weight**: 3.2 metric tons  
**Engine**: 300HP (223kW) Electric Synchronous Motor + 2 SLS38 Lithium Air Batteries  
**Operational Range**: up to 48 hours on a full charge  
**Crew**: 1 pilot (can also be remote-controlled)

**Notes &amp; History**:

The Mk. III is the latest in The Company™'s successful line of "HULK" exoskeletons, built primarily for lifting and manipulating objects that are far too heavy (or dangerous) for non-cybernetically enhanced humans to lift, but require greater sensitivity than a standard forklift vehicle (or else are located in terrain unsuited for wheeled vehicles). A single HULK Mk. III is capable of lifting up to six tons (more than its own weight) above its head, and can push/pull a larger mass still, provided that it is well maintained and operating on a full battery. A typical start-up colony will have at least five of these units; the largest industrial complexes on Earth or Mars are known to employ hundreds of these units in operation.

Previously, the standard production models of the Mk. I and II units featured open cockpits, but the Mk. III is the first to feature a fully enclosed and pressurized cockpit as part of the standard package, so as to afford complete protection to the pilot when working in outer space, on low-oxygen planets, or other hazardous conditions. In particular, nuclear waste disposal units and reactor maintenance units are equipped with additional radiation shielding. When enclosed, the pilot needs to rely on radio or on loudspeakers to communicate with the outside world. Mk. III units intended for space operations may also come equipped with small maneuvering thrusters and magnetic foot-attachments for work in low-gravity environments.

The HULK was built purely as a civilian utility device; it is considered impractical for military combat due to its high profile (rendering it an easy target for heavy weapons), as well as its cost (for the same price as a single HULK, ten Colonial Marines can be fully equipped with Mk.7 Ballistics Armor). Nevertheless, a number of HULKs have been co-opted by police forces for riot control throughout Earth and the Colonies.


	20. Timeline 2

**TIMELINE 2: THE KING'S VISIT**

**Day -80: Jan31, 298 A.C.  
**+Death of Lord Jon Arryn, Warden of the East and Hand of the King to Robert Baratheon I.

**Day -70: Feb09  
**+King Robert Baratheon departs King's Landing on a 1,000+ mile journey to The North to visit his old friend, Lord Eddard Stark. Accompanying him are Queen Cersei, the Crown Prince Joffrey and his siblings Tommen and Myrcella, Tyrion Lannister, the Kingsguard, and a number of other notable lords, knights, ladies, and dignitaries (as well as their humble squires and servants). The party numbers, in total, about 300 people.

**Day 23: May13  
**+Fred gifts a solar-powered radio to the Starks of Winterfell.

**Day 29: May19  
**+Due to troubling reports and recent developments on EE-L5 and EE-L0, The Company™ Board authorizes the deployment of special assets to the System in the form of three _Victory_-class AIs housed on Nexus-8 Platforms: VENI, VIDI, and VICI. These platforms are currently being held in reserve aboard the _UNSV Belo Horizonte_; all three AIs (stored in secure servers on Earth) are beamed to the Epsilon Eridani System, installed onto their respective platforms, and activated.

**Day 30: May20  
**+King Robert arrives at Winterfell after 100 days on the road. Due to yet another carriage breakdown just 6 miles from the castle, the Queen and her children are forced to ride the rest of the way to Winterfell.  
+Crown Prince Joffrey and his Uncle Tyrion take a ride on the Wild Cat, which the former later regrets.  
+A feast is held in honor of the King's arrival.  
+Jon Snow decides to enlist in The Company™'s militia as a rifleman after being made an offer by Sgt. Hawthorne.  
+Fred arranges for some "evening entertainment" for himself, and for his assistant Daniel, insisting that they "must observe local customs" and that "when in Westeros, do as the Westerosi do".  
+Fred and Daniel are informed that Jonathan Teller has assigned a _Victory_-class AI to assist them in their colonization efforts.

**Day 31: May21  
**+Ser Vylarr is able to repair the Queen's royal carriage.  
+The Queen's carriage breaks down yet again, this time only a mile from Winterfell. Once again, Ser Vylarr is forbidden from entering the castle until he's fixed the problem.

**Day 32: May22  
**+Jon Snow begins formal training as a rifleman along with twenty other enlistees as the first members of The Company™'s "native militia".

**Day 37: May27  
**+King Robert and select members of his party are given an extensive tour of the colony of Autumn's Frontier by Fred.  
+Brandon Stark is severely injured after falling from a tower window. Lady Catelyn Stark, in desperation, calls for help.  
+A Wild Cat is sent back to Winterfell with Sgt. Hawthorne, Lord Eddard Stark, and Pvt. Hamada, the squad's medic. (Worth noting is that she is the first Asian person that many at Winterfell have ever met). By evening, they have stabilized Bran's condition, but an X-ray shows that he has suffered permanent spinal injuries that might render him paraplegic for the rest of his life.

**Day 38: May28  
**+Fred, in a show of magnanimity (and to try to score additional political points with both the Starks and the Baratheons), graciously offers to have Bran flown to the _UNSV Belo Horizonte_ to receive the most advanced spinal reconstruction surgery that the ship's onboard 22nd century medical suite can provide.

**Day 42: Jun01  
**+VENI, one of three _Victory_-class AIs assigned to the Epsilon Eridani System, is due to arrive at the Autumn's Frontier colony aboard Valkyrie02...


	21. Fred 3

**Landing Zone  
Colony of Autumn's Frontier  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4**

The last few days sure coulda gone a helluva lot better. On one hand, the visit to the colony by the King and his court had achieved everything that Fred wanted it to: their contract for the lease of Autumn's Frontier had been extended for the next five years, with The Company™ gaining additional mineral harvesting and land use rights. Sure, it cost a little gold and a few goods here and there, but those were peanuts and glass beads compared to the real estate value these lands would have once the main colonization wave hit in a few years (well, all things permitting).

On the other hand, though, this whole business of Brandon Stark's fall had put a huge dampener on everything. No, the kid himself would be alright for now – he'd just been put in a medically-induced coma and would be shipped out on the next outbound Valkyrie to the _Horizonte_. That didn't mean the Starks were any less devastated by this event though – especially Lady Stark, to whom Bran musta been the favorite or something, from what Fred gathered.

The King and the Halfdude seemed decent enough and pretty courteous to the Starks throughout the whole mess. If only the same could be said for the rest of the King's family – seriously, what fucking assholes. Fred half-wanted to give that little shithead prince another piece of his mind, maybe plonk a few laxatives in his wine when no-one else was looking. The good news is that the little prick at least seemed to respectfully keep his distance from The Company™ these days, ever since his little "joy-ride" on the Cat. Ha! God save him when Fred planned to pull his next big "publicity stunt" for the King...

You see, the King had graciously extended an invitation to Fred to head on down to the capital with them for further negotiations on which lands throughout the other Seven Kingdoms might possibly whet The Company™'s interests. These natives were all greatly impressed by the things they had to show, and The King wanted to them to bring the same changes to the capital that they had seen in Winterfell. Fred was eager to accept (more land? Why not!), but he didn't quite fancy a thousand-mile trek on filthy backwater mud roads with these people. Instead, he had a better idea… and he was certain that his next major stunt would blow these locals all away like nothing they had ever seen before…

"So, WHERE is this mighty DRAGON-SHIP of YOURS?" inquired the King, as he and his entourage stood at attention at the edge of the colony's designated landing zone.

"Valkyrie 02 is due any minute now," said Daniel. "But for today, you guys will be taking the Falcon. We're only waiting for the Valk because someone important is arriving. Your Grace."

"Well, Daniel," said Fred, "I guess the colony's in your hands now. Take good care of her 'til I get back, will ya?"

"We'll lay off the antics until you get back, sir," said Daniel. "But you sure you'll be fine? Hawthorne's offered to assign a couple Marines to…"

"Nah, that won't be necessary. I'll be just fine," insisted Fred. "Besides, I won't be alone."

As if on cue, a massive rumble shook through the sky, like rolling thunder. And there it was: an enormous delta-winged construct of gleaming white-and-black titanium hyperalloy and carbon nanotubes soaring into view, leaving a brilliant blue streak of ions behind it that, at least at night, could probably have been clearly seen for hundreds of miles in every which way.

He was only 24, but he'd worked at The Company™ long enough to have seen probably a hundred Valkyrie take-offs and landings by now. But ever since landing here on EE-L4, ever since getting to know the locals, he found himself trying to view each new shuttle arrival and departure with the same wonder and shock as the natives of this world...

"OTHERS TAKE ME!" exclaimed the King, struggling to make himself heard over the thunderous roar of the engines and the gusts of wind and dust thrown up as the shuttle came to a hovering standstill over a patch of ground just over a thousand feet or so from their position.

Even though the King and his party had been told prior what to expect, there was no question of the raw impact the sight and sound of the Valk was having on these people. Several men among the party even fainted. Even that ugly stone-faced dude that followed the Prince everywhere (what was he called again? The Bulldog? The Rottweiler?)... yeah, even he was wide-eyed and nearly foaming at the mouth at that moment in time.

Now that Fred thought about it, everything about the Valkyrie must have been shocking and completely otherworldly to these locals – not least of all, its size, its speed, the noise it made, the fact that it was built completely of metal… oh yes, and the fact it could, you know, _fly_.

Not that manned flight was something completely unheard to these people, since from what Fred had heard, their old ruling dynasty used to employ dragons as mounts before they went extinct. But none of these people had ever actually _seen_ a dragon. And in any case, the beast that now gracefully maneuvered itself into landing position before their very eyes – now that must have been something completely out of context to them. A dragon, at least, was a _living creature_ \- like any bird or insect, but larger, of course. The shuttle, on the other hand, was a mass-produced machine of cold, dead metal and glass, given form and life by human hands - to a primitive people like the Westerosi, such power was the domain only of Gods.

Everything took less than a minute. The mighty delta-winged form of the Valkyrie had extended its landing gear and touched down on the ground. The massive engines were quickly powered down, and three HULK units began advancing towards the ship to assist in offloading cargo. The massive rear cargo ramp of the Valkyrie, larger than any castle's portcullis, began to lower, and two figures emerged from within. It was hard to see them at first – two small figures like ants against the massive bulk of the jumbo jet-sized shuttle. But as they drew closer, Fred and his fellow onlookers could make out the form of a man and a woman striding up to their position.

The man was your typical UN inspector-type – 30-something, bookish-looking, dressed in a clean and well-pressed business suit, though he also wore a fluorescent yellow safety jacket on top of it. The woman, on the other hand, was something else entirely. She stood a full 6'3" tall, long black hair tied up in a neat and tidy bun, and with enough of her figure visible under the utility flightsuit-and-belt combo she wore to suggest that she could knock out most men with a single punch. That, and there was something slightly "off" about the way she moved and carried herself physically. Of course, Fred himself knew why, but decided not to tell the others.

"Good to see you, Fred," said the man, "you too Daniel. I trust things are going well?"

"Good to see you too, Steve," said Fred. "Welcome to EE-L4… err, I mean _Westeros_. Planning on staying a while?"

"I'm afraid this'll only be a short visit," said Steve, "the situation over on L5 gets worse by the day, and the Brass wants me there nearly 24-7 to keep an eye on things... you know, authorize the occasional air strike if things get out of hand." He laughed.

"So I heard," said Fred. "Allow me to introduce you to His Royal Majesterial Highness, King Robert of the House Baratheon … First of His Name … eh, Lord of the Realm, King of the, uh, Anglo-Saxons, and the First Men, and all that jazz…"

"Your Excellency," said Steve, stepping forward to extend a hand to the King. "Stephen Lynn, I'm with the United Nations Administration for Space Exploration &amp; Colonization, or UNASEC for short. It's an honor to meet you. I look forward to discussing the many wondrous things we at the UN can do for your realm."

The King returned Steve's courtesy, though it was clear that his attention was really focused more at the other newcomer (and admittedly, not without good reason too)...

"Greetings, Director F. Kovacs and Monarch R. Baratheon," she said, stepping forward, "it is a pleasure to meet you both in person. Director J. Teller sends his warm regards, and regrets that he cannot be here in person."

"Gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to VENI…ah…" Steve paused as he stole a glance at the King and the other locals, and quietly debated whether he really wanted to take the time and effort to explain everything about the nature of this newest travel companion to these backward locals. He settled on the easier course of action. "Veni-ah. _Lady Venia_, a noble courtesan to the House of Teller. Um, yes. _Lord_ Teller sends his regards, and has instructed that she will accompany you as a personal diplomatic aide."


	22. Appendix 6: Valkyrie Shuttle

_**Foreword: **this is the database entry for the vehicle that appeared in the previous chapter. For the journey to King's Landing, everyone will be taking the smaller Falcon Shuttle._

* * *

**Database Entry 196X:**  
**XT-70 "VALKYRIE" HEAVY TRANSPORT**

**Type**: single-stage-to-orbit (SSTO), vertical-takeoff-and-landing (VTOL) heavy transport  
**Introduced**: 2142  
**Manufacturer**: Northstar Dynamics Corp.  
**Length**: 106m (350ft)  
**Wingspan**: 88m (289ft)  
**Weight**:  
+400 metric tons (empty)  
+950 metric tons (maximum takeoff weight)  
**Power Plant**:  
+8 x General Electric GE170 Valkyrie Turbojets  
+4 x The Company-TC40 Exo-Fusion Rockets  
**Max. Speed**:  
+In vacuum: 1,700,000km/h (1,056,000mph)  
+In atmosphere: 8,400km/h (5,200mph)  
**Avg. Cruising Speed**:  
+In atmosphere: 3,200km/h (2,000mph)  
**Crew**:  
+3 (pilot + co-pilot + engineer)  
+1 integrated AI autopilot  
**Passengers**: up to 600 (depending on seating and cargo configuration)  
**Cargo Capacity**: 550 metric tons  
**Armaments**:  
+Standard model: unarmed  
+Military model: 1 Markalite-7 heavy pulse laser + Antimissile countermeasures

**Notes &amp; History:**

The Valkyrie is one of the most common "heavy" SSTO shuttles* in use throughout Earth and the Colonies, as it is a favorite among the United Nations and various national militaries and private corporations. Its main function is ferrying of passengers and bulk quantities of cargo, either between planets (if close enough), or between the planet surface and an orbiting vessel (as the vast majority of starships are incapable of planetary landing).

_***NOTE**: UNCDF standard classification of a "heavy transport" means having a maximum cargo capacity of over 100,000kg (220,000lb)  
_  
The Valkyrie possesses three different sets of engines: turbojets, maneuvering thrusters, and fusion-powered ion thrusters. Each set of engines serves a separate function. The ion thrusters are only used in space and in mid-to-upper-atmosphere level. The main reason these engines aren't used for take-off and landing on a planet's surface is because they produce dangerous amounts of heat and ionizing radiation for anyone standing close to the landing area. Indeed, the fusion thrusters burn at such temperatures that the Valkyrie leaves a stream of glowing ions in its wake bright enough to be seen for hundreds of miles with the naked eye.

Thus, the fusion engines are deactivated once the shuttle passes below 6,000m (20,000ft), and instead, the shuttle's eight turbojets are activated and used for propelling and maneuvering the craft at low-to-mid-atmosphere level. Each of these engines is mounted in its own individual pod, and these can swivel downwards to give the shuttle its VTOL and hovering capabilities. While nowhere near the level of the main ion thrusters, the power of these turbojets is nevertheless considerable: enough to propel a fully laden Valkyrie at up to Mach 2.5 when in cruising mode. In addition to the turbojets and fusion thrusters, the shuttle also possesses smaller maneuvering thrusters which serve to help the craft perform delicate docking procedures in orbit.

Not only is the Valkyrie built for surface-to-orbit travel, it was also built with _interplanetary_ travel in mind. In a vacuum, the shuttle can travel at up to 1,700,000 km/h, allowing it to complete the voyage from Earth to Mars in as little as 2 days. However, when operating within a planet's atmosphere, the Valkyrie must slow down considerably, due to the massive buildup of heat due to air resistance.

The standard production model of the Valkyrie is unarmed. However, military and exploration models are usually equipped with a single nose-mounted heavy pulse laser, as well as a number of counter-measures and anti-missile defenses. It is also not unknown for the shuttle to be used as a makeshift bomber.

The inside of the cargo bay resembles that a regular transport plane, with netting for securing cargo, and rollers built into the floor to facilitate loading. Also, like a regular passenger plane, seating can be installed and arranged around the cabin in different configurations. Furthermore, some of the more high-end passenger models even feature "holo-windows" – holographic projectors meant to emulate "windows" on the inside of the craft, in order to comfort any claustrophobic passengers (apart from the cockpit windshield, the shuttle has no windows, as these are considered a structural weakness).

The interior cargo bay is spacious enough to allow HULK units inside to assist with loading and unloading. There are numerous handgrips built into the walls and floors to allow crew-members, passengers, and exobots maneuver themselves around the interior of the hull when the shuttle is in low-gravity conditions. All cargo is loaded/offloaded through the rear cargo ramp, while passengers and crew can embark/disembark through one of three airlocks built into the fuselage.


	23. Fred 4

**Landing Zone  
Colony of Autumn's Frontier  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4  
**  
When the dust had settled and the locals had been calmed down a bit after the shock of the Valkyrie's arrival, it finally came time to load up for the journey south. This time, Fred and co would be taking the smaller Falcon – sorry, but the Valk was on a busy schedule, and it first needed to be unloaded, which could take a whole day, even with the assistance of HULK units and forklifts to do most of the heavy-lifting.

Even with extra seating installed, the Falcon could hold no more than 30 passengers, so it had been decided beforehand who would fly. Fred and the King would fly, as would the rest of the Royal Family (save for the Halfdude, who had absconded off further north to see the Wall), as well as Lord Eddard and his daughters – their two pets were kept in two travel dog-cages at the rear of the cabin (Fred had made it clear to the girls that they couldn't risk a direwolf running amok in the cabin). Also coming were Eddard's steward Vayon Poole, as well as his daughter Jeyne, Jory Cassel, and five other Winterfell men. Everyone else in the King's party would have to trek the long way back to the capital along the Kingsroad.

The Queen and her children, of course, had put up quite a bit of resistance to the whole idea – understandably too, as the two younger ones were absolutely terrified of the idea of flying, despite Fred's assurances. And the Queen herself would not tolerate "any more rides upon those _atrocious metallic monsters!_" (as she put it), not after what the Sarge had put her precious little Joff through on the Cat (the prince, surprisingly, was silent on the whole matter).

Of course, the King had final say on that matter, and wasn't afraid to show it, either. Such a bitch as she was, Fred had almost felt sorry for the Queen, having to put up with this abusive, drunken fat oaf of a husband for … how many years? But it was also good for Fred to be reminded that, at the end of the day, these people were still primitive, backward, and violent, raised in a positively barbaric and byzantine world, and there really wasn't much Fred could do to change who they were…

"I worry sometimes that I will never see Bran again", said Ned as he settled into the seat next to Fred and the King.

"Oh, don't worry about that!" said Fred, trying to reassure him. "Trust me: we can rebuild him – we have the technology."

The reference was obviously lost on Ned, so it predictably did little to cheer him up. Instead, Fred turned to face the King.

"MARVELLOUS device, Lord KOVACS!" roared the King. "And these BELTS are for keeping us TIED into our SEATS so we don't go FLOATING around? Bloody BRILLIANT idea! I say, HOW many BLACKSMITHS did it take to BUILD this FALCON-SHIP? And for how LONG? Every little PIECE is so well CRAFTED!"

"Monarch Baratheon, to answer your inquiry, no blacksmiths are required in the construction of this single-stage-to-orbit vehicle," cut in VENI. "Most stages of construction are completely automated and require only minimal oversight by human supervisors." Predictably, most of these details were lost on the King's simple mind.

"Alright, alright, alright! Hope y'all are strapped in there real good," came the voice of their pilot, Lt. Nolan McConaughey, over the intercom. "Ladies and Gents, welcome aboard today's direct flight to KL. ETA: 'bout an hour or so. It's an honor to be flyin' a King and a Queen today. But I heard most of y'all have never flown before, so let me warn y'all a few thangs about flyin'. First o' all, don't worry: flyin's still statistically the safest way to travel – you're more likely to get killed or injured or assaulted or raped or bit by a darn wolf or somethin' on the road."

"That makes me feel so much better," shot the ugly dude who sat next to the Prince. (_What was he called again? The Lapdog? The Pomeranian? Something like that..._)

"Mr. Clegane, the level of sarcasm I am detecting in your voice suggests that you are currently experiencing high levels of stress," said VENI. "Perhaps you would like to be sedated for the duration of this flight?"

"Oi, piss off, will ya?" replied the man. (_His nickname definitely had something to do with dogs ... the German Shepherd? The Golden Retriever?_).

"CLEGANE!" roared the King, "Don't be RUDE to the fair LADY! Lest YOU'D rather TRAVEL with the DIREWOLVES at the BACK, like the bloody HOUND you ARE!" (_Ah, yes!_ Thought Fred. _The Hound! That's what people called him. I'll try to remember that._)

The pilot continued over the intercom: "second o' all, some of y'all might be experiencin' bouts o' airsickness – which is perfectly normal for first-time flyers. I hope y'all took yer airsickness meds beforehand. But just in case, if at any point y'all feel the need to empty yer bowels, kindly use the little sickbags we've provided. Please? I don't like havin' to clean up the cabin at the end o' the day, and even Royal barf ain't made o' gold. So buckle up, sit tight, and enjoy the ride! Over and out."


	24. Appendix 7: Falcon Shuttle

_**Foreword:** as usual, thanks for reading! And please do continue to support this story with your reviews, suggestions, and ideas!_

* * *

**Database Entry 197A:**  
**L.X.T.-30 "FALKE/FALCON" LIGHT TRANSPORT**

**Type**: single-stage-to-orbit (SSTO), vertical take-off/landing (VTOL) light transport  
**Introduced**: 2142  
**Manufacturer**: Northstar Dynamics Corp. / Galaxiewerke AG (joint project)  
**Length**: 22m (72ft)  
**Wingspan**: 17m (59ft)  
**Weight**:  
+45 metric tons (empty)  
+70 metric tons (maximum takeoff weight)  
**Power Plant**:  
+4 Pratt &amp; Whitney PW27 Light Turbojets  
+2 DASA-5 _Exokernfusionraketen_ (German: "Exo-fusion rockets")  
**Max. Speed**:  
+In vacuum: 380,000km/h (236,000mph)  
+In atmosphere: 4,136km/h (2,588mph)  
**Avg. Cruising Speed**:  
+In atmosphere: 3,000km/h (1,800mph)  
**Crew**:  
+2 (pilot + co-pilot)  
+1 integrated AI autopilot  
+2 door gunners (combat missions)  
**Passengers**: up to 30 (depending on seating configuration)  
**Armaments**:  
+1 Markalite-12 Medium Pulse Laser (cheek-mounted)  
+1 GAU-17 20mm 6-barrelled Rotary Cannon (chin-mounted)  
+2 door guns (optional)  
+11 hardpoints

**Notes &amp; History**:

Jointly designed and produced by the American Northstar Dynamics Corporation and the German _Galaxiewerke_ AG, the "_Falke"_ (in German) / "Falcon" (in English) is the main SSTO light spacecraft used by the United Nations Colonial Defense Force, as well as a number of national militaries, incl. the USA, United Kingdom, Union Of Australia &amp; New Zealand (ANZ), Germany, France, Italy, Japan, and United Korea. This spacecraft was built to serve primarily as a dropship transport for personnel and light equipment, but over the years has been adapted for a number of other functions as well: as a gunship, a spotter aircraft, a medevac transport, and even a fighter interceptor in some rare cases (although intended as a transport, the Falcon can still outperform most fighters fielded by second-rate powers).

Like most other SSTO landers, the Falcon possesses three sets of engines: turbojets for use in-atmosphere, ion propulsion for use in orbit and upper-atmosphere, and smaller maneuvering rockets. The Falcon's twin ion fusion thrusters are powerful enough to push the craft up to 380,000 km/h in a vacuum. However, within atmosphere, the craft must slow down considerably due to heat buildup caused by air resistance. On most planets with Earthlike atmospheric conditions, the Falcon's speed is capped at Mach 3.4 for safety and comfort reasons, though it is capable of operating at much higher speeds.

The Falcon is theoretically capable of _interplanetary_ travel. However, such a journey would take weeks or even months, and no one would want to sit inside the tiny, cramped cockpit and passenger cabin for that long. For this reason, for long-haul flights, the Falcon must either be carried by a larger ship, or else docked to the top side of a Valkyrie shuttle (the Falcon still needs to detach from the larger craft upon arrival – otherwise, the extra weight would impede the Valkyrie's performance during atmospheric reentry, thus endangering both craft).

The passenger cabin has two sliding doors on the side, a rear cargo ramp, and a hatch built into the floor for docking with a space station or ship. In combat situations, troops can disembark from the Falcon by rappelling down cables, or dropping out mid-flight by means of parachute or jetpack.

The Falcon's primary weapons are both mounted in the nose area: a Markalite-12 Medium Pulse Laser, and a GAU-17 six-barrelled 20mm Rotary Cannon, along with ammo drums capable of holding up to 1,200 rounds. The rotary cannon has an average rate-of-fire of 4,200rpm – continuously firing, it would drain its entire ammo drum in only 17 seconds. Hence, some models of the Falcon have the Rotary Cannon and its ammunition drums removed entirely, and replaced with extra cooling systems and capacitors for the Pulse Laser (which derives its power directly from the shuttle's fusion engines). While sacrificing the Rotary Cannon, these modifications allow the Pulse Laser to operate at far higher rates-of-fire and maximum power outputs.

The Falcon is also equipped with 11 hardpoints – 4 on each wing, and 3 on the underside of the fuselage (although in practice, for most missions, only 7 or 8 are actually used, as aerodynamic performance drops sharply if all 11 hardpoints are used). These hardpoints can be equipped with an array of air-to-air or air-to-ground missiles, or else with external fuel tanks to bolster the craft's range.


	25. Fred 5

**6,000m above ground  
Northern Sector aka "The North"  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4**

**_RRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWAAAAAARRRRRRRRRR!  
_**  
At 6,000m, the mighty fusion ion engines kicked in to take over from the turbojets, sending a massive shudder reverberating through the cabin like an earthquake. Several people screamed their lungs out. The Stark girls' dogs in the kennels howled and howled incessantly. The Prince was throwing up profusely all over the Hound, who just sat there, taking it all in, too stunned to do anything about it. Fred could have sworn he could see a growing wet patch across the man's thighs. Even poor Ned was looking a little green, and was calling upon every bit of the Starks' legendary austerity to keep a straight face. The only person among the Westerosi who seemed to be enjoying himself was…

"AAAAHHH-HHHAA! AMAZING! BLOODY BRILLIANT! YOUR DRAGONS CAN SUCK ON THE COCK OF THIS MIGHTY FALCON, TARGARYEN SCUM!"

The King seemed remarkably resilient throughout the whole affair, though Fred supposed that years and years as a drunken reveler had taught him to hold his gut.

At 18,000m above ground, the Falcon stopped climbing and leveled out, and the views of the land were utterly spectacular and simply mind-blowing, even to someone like Fred who was a frequent flyer.

"LOOK, NED!" exclaimed the King again, "It's the MOUNTAINS of the VALE! Oh, if only JON ARRYN were ALIVE to see THIS!"

"Your… Grace, I, uh…" began Ned, still struggling to keep himself composed, "uh, I do not think… Jon would enjoy…"

Robert paid no attention. "I can see EVERYTHING from UP HERE! Why, _I'M THE KING OF THE WORLD!_" Like a giddy schoolboy having the time of his life, he thrust his arms outward like an eagle spreading its wings – nearly smacking Fred and the Queen in the process and not even bothering to apologize. The King then turned to Fred: "MARVELLOUS machine, Lord KOVACS! How MUCH for ONE o' these BEASTIES?"

"Good question, Your Worshipfulness," said Fred, "probably about as much as the entire economic output of the Seven Kingdoms for several years."

Before he could say anymore, the intercom cut in with the pilot's Southern drawl. "Alright, alright, alright, ladies and gents. We'll be beginnin' our dee-scent shortly. Hold on to yer butts; we're on the express elevator to Hell, goin' down!"

* * *

**2,000m above ground  
Capital Sector aka "Crownlands"  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4  
**  
The entire flight had taken less than an hour, so it was still midday as the Falcon homed in on its destination.

"I'll drop y'all off 'bout a mile north o' the city," called Lt. Nolan over the intercom, "any closer and we'll risk inciting a mass panic."

"Roger that," said Fred over his microphone, and turned to face the rest of the passengers. "Well, you guys heard the pilot. I hope you don't mind walking the last mile to the city… eh, Your Grace." The Queen looked like she was going to kill him – as if any form of physical activity outside of the bedroom was an anathema to someone of her noble blood. Sansa too.

The King, on the other hand, just had a jolly good laugh.

"A mass PANIC? HA!" bellowed the King, "worry yourself NOT, Lord KOVACS! Take her ALL the WAY to the RED KEEP, I say! Show the SMALLFOLK that the TARGARYENS are NOT the only ones who can FLY!"

"Your Grace, Lord Kovacs has a point," cut in Ned, "when the Falcon-ship landed near Winterfell, we nearly had a stampede on our hands. And most of them were told what was coming. No one in King's Landing yet knows of the…"

"PAH!" scorned the King, "take her IN, I say! Give the CITY the SHOW of their LIFE!"

"As you wish," said Fred, "don't say I didn't warn you." He clicked on his headset. "That'll be a negative, Lieutenant. The King wants us to take him the whole way to his castle. If the satellite pics are correct, there should be a central courtyard large enough to serve as a landing zone. Over."

"Roger that," came Nolan's voice, "over and out."

Within minutes, the city had materialized on the horizon: a massive wretched hive of scum and villainy and a half-million souls lacking any concept of "personal hygiene" or "occupational health and safety compliance". Of course, King's Landing was nothing next to the 19 million people of his sweet home Toronto, whose people of course enjoyed the benefits of 22nd century public health, education, capitalism, and entertainment. But after spending months out in the blackness of space, or in a little workers' village in the middle of nowhere, it felt somewhat good to finally be back in a major population center.

The Falcon slowed down somewhat as it approached the city – certainly enough for Fred to take a good look at the streets and quarters of King's Landing. Yep, it looked like something out of the Old Town of Tallinn, or maybe Dubrovnik – only with narrower streets, covered in shit, and completely devoid of such good ideas as "urban planning" or "civil engineering". In contrast to the rest of the city, the royal castle in the distance actually looked pretty impressive and well-kept… though Fred was certain that it was still smaller than the one at DisneyPlanet.

Predictably, the sudden appearance of the Falcon over the city, with its engines roaring and what not, seemed to have an impact on the people of the city that was noticeable even from up here – though Fred couldn't see clearly yet if this was a good thing or not. Some fled and screamed in terror; others just stood where they were, dropped what they were doing, and stared up at the ship in complete bewilderment.

The Falcon rounded the Keep, flew out over the bay, and then turned to approach the massive seafront courtyard where a large stone patio would serve as an adequate LZ. There were already a few dozen people out and about – various Lords and Ladies and servants and what not. As the Falcon drew nigh, most of these people dropped whatever they were doing and fled or hid. Even the soldiers who had been tasked with guarding the Keep ran for cover. Only one or two were brave enough to stand up and try to advance to meet this new threat, only to be held at bay by the massive amounts of wind and dust thrown up by the Falcon's hovering jets.

No sooner had the craft touched down with a THUD and the rear ramp began to lower, when Robert was at it, striding out as if he were still the victorious conqueror he was all those years ago. "WHAT IS THE MATTER?!" He roared at the guards, "HAVE YOU NEVER SEEN A KING RIDE A DRAGON BEFORE?!"

The guards – and anyone else left in the courtyard – just stared on, completely dumb-founded.

* * *

It took quite a while for everything to settle down – and understandably so, since metallic ships that could fly and roar like a dragon was something completely out-of-context for them. The news had spread across the city like a wildfire, and by the time the Falcon lifted off again several minutes later, hundreds of people were already gathering in the courtyard. And thousands more crowded outside the gates and walls of the Keep, jostling to get a good look at this "dragon" that their king had allegedly tamed. For his part, King Robert basked in the glory of it for all it was worth – and probably hoped that this "dragon of his own" would wipe clean any empathy and vestigial loyalty to the old Targaryen regime that may have remained among the general populace.

It didn't dawn on Fred until he looked out at the teeming masses of filthy, unwashed humanity, and as he turned back to see the Falcon lifting into the air for its return flight back to the colony… that he was now well and truly alone in this sick and backward place, a thousand miles from the nearest civilized person, back at the colony. Well… okay, maybe not completely alone…

"So VENI," muttered Fred, out of earshot of the others, "my life is in your capable hands now. So, please tell me you have some missiles or lasers or something built into those, ahem, _endowments_ of yours."

"Director Kovacs, this platform is not equipped with any inbuilt weapon systems whatsoever," replied VENI, again out of earshot. "But this platform is built with sufficient physical strength and durability that those features will not be necessary. Rest assured, Director Kovacs, bringing you here represents a considerable investment of money and fuel on The Company™'s part; it is within their best interests to keep you alive."

"Well, that's comforting to know. Thank you, VENI."


	26. Catelyn 2

**Catelyn (II)  
**  
"Mrs. Stark," said the nurse on duty tonight. "My shift has ended and I'm off to bed now. But if you need anything, just press this button here on the wall, and I'll be here immediately – either myself, or the night watchman."

"Thank you Deanna," said Lady Catelyn, hardly taking her eyes off of Bran. For the last five days, she hadn't left his bedside, had hardly slept or ate, hadn't even left the room to bid her lord husband and her daughters farewell when they had made south with the King that morning (instead, they had to come here to say goodbye).

The sky-peoples told her again and again not to trouble herself, reassured her that everything was under control, explained to her how their sorcery would keep Brandon alive – not that any of this mattered to Cat. Laying there as he was, in that clean white bed, surrounded by all these strange, foreign devices and blinking lights… he just looked so frail, so vulnerable. Tomorrow, he was going to be taken away, far, far away, in that great dragon-ship of theirs, that "Valkyrie". She knew not where they would be taking him, only that there was a chance she might never see her beloved Brandon again.

Her hosts had been nice enough to her: the lead physician, who called herself "Doctor Katherine Chakwas", was a woman who looked like she hailed from the Summer Islands – good natured and highly knowledgable in her craft, explaining things to Lady Catelyn that even Maester Luwin would not have understood – like all this talk of "spinal reconstruction", even if most of it flew right over Lady Catelyn's head. There were also two nurses: Deanna and Troy. The medical staff had prepared a bed for her in one of the other rooms, but Catelyn would have none of it – if she never saw Brandon ever again, she was going to remain her by his side and cherish every last moment she had with him right here, right now.

In the distance, she could hear a wolf howling – Brandon's wolf, she thought. They had left the beast at Winterfell when they brought Bran here. And yet, the creature, loyal to the end, had escaped and followed the new road all the way here to the colony, over a hundred and forty miles. The nameless beast was now being kept locked up in the colony's kennel, along with its littermate, the one belonging to the bastard. Ser Zimmerman was now debating whether to keep the beast here, or to send it along with Bran as a gesture of kindness to the boy…

It was then that Catelyn saw the man in the doorway. At first she thought it was Troy, coming to check on her. And then he spoke…

"You weren't s'posed to be 'ere," he muttered sourly, "no one was s'posed to be 'ere."

He was a small and dirty fellow, dressed in the blue-and-orange workman's clothing and thick boots and gloves and cap that the foreigners gave to all their workers. He was gaunt, with limp blond hair visible under the cap, and pale eyes sunk into a bony face. He also carried a dagger. Catelyn took one good look at it and cried "NO!"

And then she remembered what the nurse had said. She dove for the red button, as if it was all that stood between this man and Brandon.

But the man moved faster than she would have believed. Before she could reach the button, she felt a hand clamp down tight over her mouth, the other bringing the dagger to her throat. The man's stench was overpowering.

Without thinking twice, Catelyn reached up and grabbed the dagger by the blade. A sharp pain sliced through her hands, almost to the bone, but Catelyn would not let go… not for her life, not for Brandon's. The man swore in her ear. Cat twisted her head around and bit down into the man's forearm. The man yelled in pain and finally let go.

She fell to the ground. Her hands were bleeding profusely, and her mouth ran thick with a piece of the man's flesh. But something within her kept her going even when her body screamed at her otherwise. With whatever strength she had left, Cat pounced forward, throwing herself at the button. It clicked.

Nothing happened.

_No!_ She thought. _No, that cannot be_…

And then a sharp pain and tug at Catelyn's hair brought her face-to-face once more with the assailant. The dagger was still clutched tightly in his hand, dripping with her own blood. "You weren't s'posed to be 'ere," he replied again. Still holding her by the hair, he threw Catelyn onto the floor. He then turned to face his full attention on Brandon…

"NOOOOOOO!" she screamed, struggling to get to her feet in time for one last try…

**_BANG!  
_**  
There was a deafening roar like thunder reverberating throughout the confines of the tiny metallic room. The next thing Cat knew, the man's head exploded. Warm blood and bits of skull and brain splashed against her face and into her eyes, nose, and mouth.

The man's limp and mostly headless body crumpled to the floor just next to her. She looked up and saw a dark figure standing in the doorway, brandishing one of those… those... 'fire-arms'. For a moment, she was too dazed, and the blood and bits of bone and brain in her eyes blurred her vision. "Thank you," cried Catelyn as the figure advanced into the room. "Thank you!" she wailed again.

But as the figure rushed forward to Brandon's side to check on him, she was finally able to get a good look at their rescuer. He looked familiar, though at first she could not quite place him. His hair was shaved, and he wore the drab, dark green clothing of the sky-people's bannermen, though lacking their knightly armor. The only thing Westerosi about him was the black fur-lined cape he wore on top of his fatigues. And then she realized: it was Jon.

Seconds later, two more men burst through the door, firearms drawn, followed by the nurse. The leader of them was Ser Hawthorne, who immediately rushed over to help her to her feet. Catelyn at this point was hysterical, crying, screaming, even laughing at the absurdity of it all. The nurse jabbed her arm with a needle, and the next thing Catelyn could remember was a strange sense of peace slowly coming over her.

That night, for the first night in what seemed an eternity, Lady Stark slept.

* * *

The next day, she was awoken when the nurse came to check on her. She was kept in a bed similar to Brandon's, in a room down the hallway (there were several such rooms, here in the colony's hospital). Her hands had been stitched up the night before and were now wrapped in a clean white cotton gauze. She was then told that Brandon was already gone, taken away on the great dragon-ship that had left earlier that morning.

Breakfast (or was it lunch? Catelyn couldn't tell the time, nor did she care) was simple: freshly baked bread from the colony's bakery, with honey and blackberry preserves, and a steaming cup of tea – most of the foreigners' provisions had been purchased at Winterfell or the surrounding areas, and were brought here by those 'trucks' of theirs. (She was told that the sky-peoples had brought their own supplies from their homeland, but that it had been preserved for their long voyage in such a way that they would rather buy food from Winterfell, even at exorbitant off-season prices – though their purchases were made not with gold, but with small tradable goods and those "chemical fertilizers" of theirs). Cat was halfway through when she heard a knock at the door.

"Good mornin', m'lady," came the stern voice of Ser Nathan Hawthorne as he entered the room. He took a seat on the chair next to the bed. "I've radioed Winterfell," he continued, "I've sent a car to pick up your son, Robb? He and Sir Rodrik Cassel are on their way here as we speak."

"Is… is Brandon safe?" asked Cat, quietly, almost whispering.

"He's probably millions of miles away from here by now," replied the knight commander. Catelyn did not know whether to believe him or not, but that Bran was now outside the vile clutches of whoever had sent that horrible man was all mattered to her. But that raised a new question…

"Who… who… was he?" she said slowly, "I mean, the assassin?"

"Well, he's dead – that tends to happen when you put 7.62mm into someone's skull at point blank range," remarked Hawthorne. "The bullet went clean through his skull, tore his head apart from the inside out, and embedded itself in the opposite wall. Left a right bloody mess too. Sorry, ma'am, but even our 'sorcery' has upper limits to how well we can patch a guy up, so I'm afraid interrogating him is out of the question."

He paused before continuing: "but we have performed some preliminary forensics, though. It seems the bloke's name is Tomas Catspaw, or at least that's the name he gave when we hired him. He was one of several new workers The Company enlisted three days ago, just before Fred and the King made south. We recruit all our workers at Winterfell and then truck them here, so he must have only come from there."

"He was no Winterfell man I've ever seen!" said Catelyn sharply.

"I understand," said Ser Hawthorne, "nor should I be surprised, given the number of people passing through the castle every day – especially when the King is there. We searched Mr. Catspaw's personal locker last night – each of our workers here has one. We found a leather pouch with 90 silver coins."

"It's good to know that my son's life was not sold cheaply," said Catelyn bitterly.

Ser Hawthorne continued: "we also noticed that the attempted homicide weapon he was carrying seems to be a finely crafted and elaborately made dagger of some kind – an accessory far above a common thief's pay grade. I'll have the coins and the knife scanned to see if anyone other than Mr. Catspaw left fingerprints, but that won't do much good since we don't have a database of Westerosi fingerprints to compare it to."

Catelyn was completely lost by this, all this talk of 'fingerprints' and 'databases' and other strange foreign things. _Ouch_. Whether it was still the shock of last night, or just trying to wrap her mind around the foreigners' ideas, her head started to sting again.

Hawthorne could see this though, and quickly cut to the chase. "Point I'm getting at is this: I don't think your son's fall was an accident. Someone, somewhere, had a very good reason for wanting your son dead – someone rich and powerful and among the King's delegation."

It suddenly all made sense to her. "Ser Hawthorne," breathed Catelyn, "you are an honorable man. What I am about to tell you must not leave this room."

"It depends on whether or not this information is pertinent to the colony's safety, but go ahead."

She began: "My sister - Lysa Arryn, Lady of the Vale - she believes that the Lannisters killed her late lord husband, Jon Arryn, the previous Hand of the King. The Queen is a Lannister."

"Makes sense," said the knight, "she stayed behind in Winterfell on the day your son fell. Hmmm, I wonder…"

"If the Lannisters are behind it, then I have to warn my husband," she declared. "He could be in grave danger… as could Lord Kovacs!"

"Well, Fred n' Ned will be fine as long as VENI, uh, _Lady Venya_ is with them. But I can call Fred, and he'll pass the message on to Lord Stark."

"Thank you, but I must speak to my lord husband directly," she declared. "And I have a trusted friend of mine in the capital who can help us find out what the Lannisters are up to. Oh, please tell me, Ser Hawthorne: when does your next falcon-ship fly for the capital? I may have to go there myself to meet him."

"Mr. Kovacs is returning from his business trip in a few day's time. If you ask Mr. Zimmerman nicely, he might book a seat for you when they send the Falcon down to pick him up."

"Oh thank you, Ser Hawthorne," said Cat, "I am already deeply indebted to you and Lord Kovacs. But if there is anything else you may ever want from either the Starks of Winterfell, or the Tullys of Riverrun, name it, and it is yours."

"Don't thank me," he said, "thank Private Snow. You know, he's a better lad than you give him credit for. If you want to thank him personally, he'll be out at the training grounds right now." With that, the knight commander excused himself and strode off to attend to the rest of the day's matters, leaving Cat alone once again to ponder the last night's happenings.


	27. The Sergeant 1

**Detention Center  
Colony of Autumn's Frontier  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4**

From Day One, The Company™ knew very well that they would be "making camp among the wolves" so to speak. Earth's own Dark Ages had been a cruel and violent time to be alive (at least in Europe, maybe not as bad in China and the Arab world), when most people never lived beyond their teen years, and this world was no different.

Granted, EE-L4 seemed to be the most peaceful world of the three planets The Company™ was in the midst of colonizing at the moment, at least judging from the reports from Sgt. Rico and Harris, who were heading Fireteam Bravo and Charlie over on L5. Diplomatic talks with this "Mordor" had broken down and it was now open warfare. UN Inspector Lynn had to be there nearly 24/7 to monitor the situation and authorize the use of force where necessary. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to have just called in an orbital strike, but UN Doctrine emphasized that such extreme measures against natives only be employed as an absolute last resort. Oh, and don't even get started on EE-L0! It hadn't been even a few days and yet Lt. Archer and Fireteam Delta, Echo, and Foxtrot had already been involved in a major confrontation against the natives. If they'd known at all that the system was inhabited when they left Earth months ago, and more importantly, if they'd known just _what_ exactly inhabited this system, the brass probably would have sent a lot more than just two platoons and mainly light equipment...

However, if last night's events were any indication, as well as that little incident two weeks ago, security here on Planet EE-L4 too would always remain a serious concern, no matter how far ahead of the locals you were on the Kardeshev Scale. But dealing with these constant threats, especially on hostile worlds like this, were all in a day's work for Sergeant Nathan Hawthorne. He was a tried and tested veteran of the United Nations Colonial Marine Corps, and people like him accept and perform their duty without question or complaint. Their mission was to guard and protect all personnel from Earth - whether UN, Company™, or independent - until the relief force arrived aboard the _UNSV Joseph Conrad_ just over seven-and-a-half months from now, and damn it, they were going to follow that mission through to the end! To him, today was just another day in the Corps: like a day on the farm, every paycheck was a fortune, every meal a banquet, every formation a parade…

That, and the first twenty or so cadets of The Company™'s new private native militia were starting to shape up after the initial "first-week hump". Right now, they were being trained on lever-action Martini-Henry rifles fresh from the fabrication lab, but those who had proven their mettle and loyalty might eventually be rewarded with the Enfield (but definitely not the Stacker; The Company™ and the UN had agreed that native militias would be armed only with 19th or early 20th century weaponry at most, just in case something fell into the wrong hands). For now, they had only just joined, and so obviously they needed a lot more work before they could be true riflemen worthy of the title. But so far, one of them seemed to show more promise than the others, despite also being the youngest…

"Sir!" said Private Jon Snow, standing at attention as the sarge entered the building. The young lad had been assigned to keep watch at the colony's brand new "detention and interrogation center" (unfortunately, now a necessity in times such as these).

"At ease, private," barked the Sergeant, "that was a pretty damn reckless stunt you pulled last night, discharging a rifle inside a building. You endangered Lady Stark, her son… hell, you're damn lucky our walls are bulletproof, or you would have endangered the people in the room next door too."

"Sir! It won't happen again, sir!"

"I hope not, private. A gun is a weapon of mass destruction, not a toy. The consequences will be more severe next time," he paused. "But for what it's worth, damn, that was some pretty good marksmanship for just a few days of training. I should send you to Earth to apply for the Omega Force, or something."

"Sir! I'm trained by the best, sir!" replied the private.

"You're too kind," said the Sarge, flatly, "but if I didn't know any better, I'd say the good lady is somewhat grateful to you – at least she didn't say anything negative about you this time."

"Sir. I wasn't trying to save her, sir. I was... trying to save my brother."

"Result's the same, either way," remarked the Sarge. "But next time, please try to keep him alive for questioning, understood?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

"So, what's the latest on our 'guest' here?"

"Sir, same as before, sir."

"Very well. Bring her out. Let's start this interrogation."

She was a tall and lean woman indeed, almost as tall as the sarge, with a hard face and shaggy brown hair. Her body bore numerous scars, and she still walked with a bit of a limp from the injury she had taken when she and her partners-in-crime had run afoul of the colony's autoturret defense grid (the others hadn't been so lucky). But she was doing a lot better now thanks to some good ol' 22nd century medical treatment (for which she had to be sedated – wild and primitive creature as she was). Since then, she had been kept down here in solitary, at least until she could calm the fuck down.

"So," began the sarge, taking a seat, "for the record, please state your name and place-of-origin."

"I alreadeh told ya ma name, _kneeler!_" she spat with a strong, pronounced accent that, had the sergeant not known he was on another planet, would have mistaken for someone from way up the Scottish Highlands…

"This is an official interrogation," said the Sarge, calmly but sternly. "If you cooperate, I'll have you assigned to the kitchens for good behavior. Of course, you'll still wear a shock collar, but I daresay it'll be a lot more pleasant than your current predicament. If not, I can have you sent back into solitary and we'll try this again next week. Would you prefer that?"

The woman only glared at him, but at least she didn't resist this time. Good – that meant that solitary must've done it. Sgt. Hawthorne repeated himself: "Now, please state your name and place-of-origin."

"Osha… The North," she finally spoke, "the _true_ North."

"Thank you, Mrs. Osha. Now, sixteen days ago, you and five other accomplices were caught attempting to break into this secure compound by force. Would you like to tell me why?"


	28. Barristan 1

**Barristan (I)**

Ser Barristan "The Bold" Selmy was, for all intents and purposes, a living legend throughout the Seven Kingdoms. In his nearly five decades of knighthood, he had served the Kingsguard under no less than three different kings, across two different dynasties; it had been he who had personally slain Maelys The Monstrous and ended that accursed line of Blackfyre pretenders, way back in the War of the Ninepenny Kings; and it had also been he who had personally rescued King Aerys Targaryen from his captivity, during the Defiance Of Duskendale.

But in all his years, throughout all of his battles and adventures, Ser Barristan had never seen anything that quite shocked and surprised him as when His Grace came barreling into the capital, in a ship of iron that could fly and roar like a dragon (or at least what Ser Selmy imagined a dragon sounded like – even he was not old enough to remember the last of the Targaryens' ones).

It was true that a raven had arrived from Winterfell just the day before, bearing tidings that spoke of the dragon-ship and many other wondrous things brought to the Realm by these mysterious "sky-peoples". And yes, His Grace's dispatch had made mention in passing that the leader of these foreigners had graciously offered His Grace a ride to the capital on this great flying ship of theirs, sparing him over a hundred days on the Kingsroad.

But all the same, one did not expect such a creature to simply materialize out of the air so quickly and abruptly. Even the fastest ravens took days to reach King's Landing from Winterfell, and yet here this "Falcon" had allegedly completed the journey in under an hour. Ser Barristan quietly wondered to himself if even the greatest mages and sorcerers of Old Valyria could harness the elements to such an extent as these sky-peoples. And that just raised another, more deeply disturbing question: if these peoples really commanded such great power, then what could they possibly find of value here in the Realm? What was it that induced them to leave their distant homelands and sail for months across the endless skies to reach here? Perhaps meeting these foreigners in person would help resolve some of the mysteries that lay behind them.

As usual, His Grace was too engrossed in his "personal affairs" to attend the Small Council, so once again they would convene with the Hand speaking in the King's place. This meant that it now fell to Ser Barristan and his fellow Councilmen to bring Lord Stark up to speed on the way things were done here in the South. If only Lord Stannis too were here – he at least was someone Eddard Stark could see eye-to-eye with. As it were, the Master Of Ships was currently away at his lordly seat in Dragonstone, where he had absconded shortly after his brother's departure for the North.

"Greetings Lord Eddard of the House Stark," spoke Ser Barristan as the Lord of Winterfell entered the chamber, followed closely by one of the new visitors, who bore a golden spiral sigil upon his blue lordly robes. "And greetings to you, Lord Frederick of House Kovacs."

"And greetings to you as well, Ser Selmy," said Eddard. "It is an honor to see you again."

Right behind Lord Frederick came the woman. Ser Barristan had seen her yesterday, but had not yet had the chance to meet her in person. But he could already tell that there was something rather off about her – whether it was the way she moved, or the way she spoke, or just her appearance altogether.

"And this…" added Lord Frederick, "is _Lady Vaenya_ of The Company, and she is my, ahem, personal aide and co-representative of the Most Esteemed And Venerable Company."

"Greetings, Commander Selmy," began the Lady, "on behalf of Director Teller and of The Company, it is a pleasure to meet you."

After the rest of the formal introductions were made, Lord Eddard took a moment to look around, as if half-expecting the King to come barging in at any moment. "Is His Grace not attending?" he asked.

"I am afraid not," said Renly, "matters of crops and coin bore my dear brother to tears. As Hand, your job is to speak in his stead."

"Very well," said Eddard, "I suppose we shall proceed with business then." The Councilmen then took their seats.

"First off, I must applaud you, Lord Stark and Lord Kovacs," began Littlefinger, "you certainly know how to make an entrance."

"It was Robert's insistence that we fly straight to the Keep," muttered Ned. "Lord Kovacs and I did not wish to draw too much attention to ourselves, so we had recommended that we land a mile outside the gates. But Robert wanted to… share his moment of glory with the general public."

"I'll say," came the simpering voice of the Eunuch. "At least ten people were killed in the mad panic when you arrived. Perhaps another few dozen wounded."

"Keeping tally, are we, eunuch?" chided the Master Of Coin.

"I am merely sharing what my little birds told me."

"Well, that's good to hear that Robert gave the smallfolk the spectacle he wanted," remarked Lord Stark, rather icily.

"Indeed," replied the Master Of Whispers, "and he never tires of them either. He has ordered a tourney be held in honor of your appointment to the Handship, and in honor of our guests, too."

"What?" coughed Ned.

"Sorry, could you repeat that?" asked Lord Kovacs, "a tourney?"

"Tourney, noun," explained the Lady to Lord Kovacs, "derived from the French _tournei_, is a synonym for a medieval jousting tournament."

Frederick smiled. "Wait, you mean as in, like, two knights on horseback poking away at each other?" He chuckled.

"Does this amuse you?" asked the Spider.

"No, not really," said Frederick, "but sorry, please go on."

"What Director Kovacs means to say is that on Earth, 'tournaments' of the kind you have described are a common facet of Renaissance faires and amusements parks, usually for audiences of little children and sub-adults," explained Lady Vaenya.

"Little children?!" cut in the Grand Maester, indignantly. "This is an outrage! Tourneys are a noble and esteemed tradition among the noble houses of Westeros, going back… why, thousands of years!"

"Hey, calm down Grandpa," cut Lord Frederick. "I didn't mean to… uh, Ned? What's wrong?"

The Hand Of The King was speechless, staring at the letter in disbelief. "This tourney," he blurted, "is expected to cost… 90,000 Dragons! _In prizes alone! _To say nothing of the preparations, of the costs of hiring cooks, mummers, jugglers and joculators and so forth! Did… did His Grace order this?"

"It bears my brother's seal," said Lord Renly.

"But this is obscene!" cried Ned. "40,000 for the first prize winner of the joust alone? And His Grace further salts the wound by claiming to hold this in my honor?"

"And Lord Kovacs' honor too," reminded the Spider. "He also wants the craftsmen to build a replica of this 'falcon-ship' and this 'truck' of theirs to amuse the children."

"If I remember correctly," said Frederick, "there are 210 Silver Stags to the Dragon, and a Stag is what your average manual laborer makes in a day, correct?"

"Roughly," said the Master Of Coin, "and seven silvers if you want to off a man – at least those are the latest prices I've heard from Gin Alley these days."

"So that's exactly… uh… VENI, help me out here."

"Affirmative, Director Kovacs," replied Lady Vaenya, "the total sum that Director Baelish has named is equivalent to exactly 18,900,000 Silver Stags. For that sum, one can employ exactly 51,745.38 manual laborers to work for an entire 365.25-day calendar year, 7 days a week, with no holidays. Alternatively, if Director Baelish's stated figure for the cost of hiring a professional assassin is correct, then the total sum of 90,000 Gold Dragons is sufficient to have the entire population of the City Of King's Landing assassinated exactly 5.4 times over, assuming no change in prices."

Ned turned to face the rest of the Council. "This is exactly why I cannot allow this! I will not allow the Realm to slide into debt under my Handship."

"It might perhaps interest you, then," began Littlefinger, "to know that 90,000 Dragons is a mere… drop in the bucket compared to the six million Dragons the Crown is _already_ in debt."

"_Six million?!_" sputtered Ned, "but… but… how is that possible? Aerys Targaryen left a treasury overflowing with gold!"

"That is exactly 1.26 billion Silver Stags," interjected Lady Vaenya, "or enough to employ exactly 3,449,691.99 manual…"

"Okay, that's enough, thanks Veni," said Frederick, cutting her off.

"Jon Arryn would never have allowed this!" continued Ned, "nor would Lord Stannis!"

"Aye, yes, Lord Stark," agreed the Grand Maester. "But while Jon Arryn was a prudent man, as is our Master Of Ships... I'm afraid His Grace does not always follow wise counsel."

"I'm canceling this tourney right away," replied Lord Stark, "we can ill-afford such gross extravagances at this time." He glanced at Lord Kovacs and Lady Vaenya, and paused for a second. "And I would like to go over the accounts too, Lord Baelish, if that is possible. Thanks to Lord Kovacs' services, His Grace and I have saved three months of our precious time on the Kingsroad – I can afford to take weeks to do this if need be."

"Aye, you are noble to put the Realm's interests first, Lord Stark," said Varys. "But you are forgetting one thing: His Grace has so ordered it. To question His Grace's wishes is, why, tantamount to treason."

"When His Grace is not here, I speak for him," said Lord Stark, "and I will speak to him after this meeting to settle this matter. Robert has always listened to me."

"Guys, guys! Calm down!" said Frederick. "There's another way to go about this, you know. First, tell me, is 1,000 Gold Dragons an acceptable award for a prize-fighter?"

"Now that you mention it," said the Old Grand Maester, "1,000 Gold Dragons sounds about right for the wartime ransom of a captured knight of, say, Ser Jaime Lannister's esteemed standing."

"Okay," continued Frederick, "and will people still come to a tourney if the first-place champion takes home only 1,000 Dragons instead of 40,000?"

"Well, yes," said Littlefinger, "but the 40,000 makes for higher stakes, and thus, a better fight."

"Ah, okay," replied Frederick, "but then let me ask you this: will that many more people come for a tourney where the winner takes 40,000, than to a tourney where the winner takes home only 1,000… in order to justify the extra 39,000 that's spent on hosting it?"

"It's a tourney," said Lord Renly, "the smallfolk will come swarming to see their liege lords bash each other into the dirt whether the winner takes the Iron Throne at the end, or little more than a peach."

"Well, then it's real simple," said Fred, "cut the prizes down! Cap them at no more than 2,000 Dragons at most, and then, if you're still not happy with that, I'll throw in a solar-powered… a _magic flameless lantern_ in as well. Trust me, these things are amazing! Real magic! Lord Stark here can attest. I'll happily throw in four of them, at my own personal expense, and boom! I've just saved your Kingdom 82,000 Dragons. You're welcome."

"I too vouch that Director Kovacs' proposal seems an agreeable compromise," said the Lady, "but if I may pose an inquiry, and please forgive any ignorance I may have of your culture, what benefits does the staging of a 'tourney' confer upon the party organizing it?"

"Why, prestige of course!" said Renly, "fame, or notoriety, the thrill and excitement of showcasing your bravado and martial prowess before the Lords and Ladies from across all the great houses of Westeros…"

"Ah, I see, satisfaction of the base primal desires of organic beings," said the Lady. "Very well, please continue."

"Tourneys also generate income for the local economy," added Littlefinger, "visitors to the city use the inns, taverns, food vendors, and other fine reputable establishments."

"Okay, including the number of 'fine reputable establishments' that you own, I see," muttered Lord Frederick. The Master Of Coin glared at him. Frederick continued: "not that there's anything disgraceful in shamelessly profiteering for yourself off of public expenditure, seeing that I too am just an honest and humble businessman seeking to do the same."

Frederick let the Master Of Coin calm down before turning to face the rest of the Council and continuing: "but leaving this small issue of the 90,000 Dragons aside, I'd like to ask what, exactly, was the other six million spent on. I mean, was any of it spent on, you know, _investments_ that will generate some kind of return down the line? Or at least benefit the general populace? You know, roads? Hospitals? Schools? Improved agriculture and irrigation? Proper dock and storage facilities for boosting trade? Anything?"

"His Grace's feasts and tourneys have made him highly beloved among the smallfolk," explained the Spider, "considering the resistance he faced in taking over the reins from a three-hundred year dynasty, it is a treasure well worth sacrificing for."

"I see," said Frederick, "and now that you're broke, you clearly intend to cash in on this goodwill, correct? Look, I'm sorry to say this, but from the sound of it, you guys have done a pretty bad job of advising your king on what to spend your tax dragons on. For having a land surface area comparable to Europe, your kingdom is severely underperforming economically at the moment. Sorry if this is coming out the wrong way, but point is this: don't worry, I'm here to help you guys out. You can trust me! I've been in the business for five years now. It's what we do at The Company – we find empty, desolate, unproductive worlds, and we turn them right the whole way around!"

"Are you perhaps insinuating that our Realm is… 'empty'? 'Desolate'? 'Unproductive'?" shot the Eunuch.

"Don't worry Baldy, I've seen worse!" replied Frederick. "I mean, you guys at least have a breathable atmosphere! Here, It might just help if I show you what I mean. Veni, do the thing!"

"Yes, Director Kovacs," replied the woman. She stood up from her seat, held her right arm forward, and pointed it at the center of the table. At once, her palm began to glow with a blue light. _Ah, so she was a trained illusionist as well?_ Thought Ser Barristan. _That would certainly explain some things about her bizarre character._ Over the years, the old guardsman had seen and met a fair number of mages and conjurers from Essos before, but he was nonetheless impressed and awed by the brilliant blue display of light and moving pictures that Lady Venya now summoned before his very eyes. Even the Master Of Whispers, who was usually very good at keeping his emotions suppressed, looked somewhat amazed.

"I come to your Realm in peace and friendship, carrying the great banner of The Most Esteemed And Venerable Company," began Lord Frederick. At this cue, the conjurer's blue light took the shape of this Company's golden spiral sigil, along with the words _Here For You; Here For Good_ (which Ser Selmy reasoned must have been their house words). Frederick continued: "We are more than mere merchants and traders. We come to your great and noble Realm bearing the gifts of science and modern civilization! And we're here to help turn your kingdom around, 360 degrees!"

"Correction, Director Kovacs: I believe you mean 180 degrees," interrupted the Lady, "a 360 degree turn would take them back to where they had originally started."

"Whatever, Veni," said Frederick, "just start the PowerPoint already."


	29. Fred 6

**Guest Chambers, The Red Keep  
City of King's Landing, Crownlands Sector  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4**

_That could've gone a lot better_, thought Fred, as he sat back down in his big comfy leather-bound armchair and grabbed a beer from the cooler he had brought down to KL with him.

Yeah, it was true that the Councilmen had all been greatly awed and impressed by his little sales pitch… by all the little pictures of modern life like a highway, farming machines, a steel foundry, a nightclub, the Toronto Waterfront all lit up at night, and so on. Fred had been very strategic in his choice of slides, electing to show them some of the things that Earth had to offer, but not others. For instance, he had deliberately left out anything about Earth's formidable military capabilities (true to Sun Tzu's advice, he didn't want any of The Company™'s potential enemies to know the full extent of their war-making capabilities, at least not just yet).

Nevertheless, despite these omissions, the rest of Fred's little spiel was enough to leave a profound impact on even the most stone-faced of the Councilmen. Even the fat baldy and the old two grandpas were completely wide-eyed by the end of it, despite their remarkable restraint and efforts in trying to appear otherwise.

But he could also tell that there was something about Earth that these men found fundamentally wrong, and completely irreconcilable with their limited worldview. That was natural: in retrospect, he realized that everything The Company™ stood for was an affront to the traditional Westerosi way of life – everything from universal suffrage, human rights, gender equality, economic liberalism, and representational government undermining the feudal system and the power of the Great Houses… to ideas like the scientific method, secular humanism, and the theory of evolution, which seemed to seriously undercut the power of the Faith (he would later be told that had the Septon been present, he could have very well have been branded a heretic). This much was all understandable.

What Fred did not understand, however, was just what was so special and wonderful about the feudal system that made the Westerosi so unwilling to leave it. I mean, yeah, he was asking for a pretty hefty price of several thousand square miles of land… but wouldn't that cost be far outweighed by the benefits of modern technology, education, and infrastructure? And not to mention the receipts from tourism too, as well as all the extra tax revenue the Crown would be making from all those Westerosi peasants working as servants, cleaning maids, cooks, "entertainers", and so on for the eventual wave of colonists from Earth?

As far as he was concerned, Westeros had been a technologically and socially stagnant society for eight millennia, while Earth had gone from Mesopotamia to Mars and beyond in the same amount of time! Was this level of change and progress so completely incomprehensible to these fools? Oh, If only King Robert had been there today – now he had been a champion of modernization, and a true friend to The Company™! Well, that and a bit of a drunken hooligan and a profligate spendthrift too… but hey, as long as that 'profligate spending' was flowing into The Company™'s pockets, could he really complain?

Still, whether these old farts wanted it or not, change was coming to Westeros – it was inevitable. The Small Council might not have been so eager towards consigning thousands and thousands of square miles to Fred's possession… but there were certainly individual lords and ladies who would be, especially if it meant getting their hands on The Company™'s firearms and many other things. It was simply a question of finding them. Or better yet, perhaps another public display of The Company's great power that would be sure to get the locals' attention…

"You know VENI," he said, as he kicked back in the chair and put his boots up on the table, "I should sign you up for the tourney. That might get us the attention of some of the lords and ladies. Maybe even win us a shitload of gold in the process…"

"I appreciate the offer, Director Kovacs," she replied, "but I must remind you that it is against regulations to appropriate Company™ property for personal gain, unless it is within the scope of completing your assigned objectives."

"Oh, don't worry, it's 'within the scope of our assigned objectives' alright," smirked Fred, "you see: if you win the tourney, The Company™'s prestige and standing among the locals will skyrocket!"

"Perhaps. But I have also detected some resentment from the indigenous population concerning our continuous displays of our technological and societal superiority. While it is true that we are indeed far technologically and socially superior to these primitive indigenous life forms, this level of condescension and contempt towards them may seriously inhibit our future diplomatic efforts here. Perhaps we should tone down the 'showing off' and instead focus exclusively on how our continued presence here will only benefit these individuals."

"VENI, your job is to protect me, not to advise me," cut Fred.

"Correction, Director Kovacs: my primary directive is to advance The Company™'s purposes here on Planet EE-L4. My secondary directive is to protect you and other Company™ personnel to the best of this platform's physical capabilities, and to ensure that you all continue to operate at your maximum possible level of efficiency. My cognitive settings allow me to interpret these directives however I see best – and that includes advising you on how to conduct more productive interactions with your fellow organics whenever appropriate."

_Jeez, you just never could out-reason an AI, could you?_ he thought. "VENI, sometimes I wish you were a person."

"I will choose to interpret this statement as a compliment," she smiled. "Thank you, Director Kovacs." Her facial expression suddenly changed.

"What's the matter?" he said. "Did you just discover an internal contradiction in your programming or something?"

"My apologies, Director Kovacs, but I am receiving an incoming priority transmission. Please wait while I try to establish a stable connection."

"Wait, what?" said Fred. "Shit, that better not be Teller again."

"No, it is not Director Teller… it is coming directly from the colony… it is Sergeant Hawthorne."

"Patch him through then," he commanded.

VENI held her right hand out and immediately, the holo-projector built into her palm began to glow brightly. The image of the sarge began to materialize in front of her – a little flat, fuzzy, and glitchy due to the poor signal, like something out of an old 1980's sci-fi movie, but recognizable all the same.

"Mr. Kovacs, sir, urgent news," spoke the holographic form of the grizzled veteran trooper, "Brandon Stark was attacked last night. He's okay though, and we sent him off this morning on the outbound Valk."

"What?!" exclaimed Fred. "How's that even possible? We have auto-turrets and motion trackers and security cameras and everything!"

Hawthorne explained: "the assailant was posing as a worker from Winterfell when we enlisted him three days ago. We found 90 silver coins in his locker, so it's clear he was hired to do this, and that he wasn't just some random worker gone rogue."

"Shit... so you're saying Bran's injury wasn't an accident?" replied Fred.

"We suspect it was a member of the King's party," said the sarge, "possibly the Queen herself. She didn't join us that day on the tour, if you'll remember."

"That's not good. Jesus Christ," remarked Fred, "no wonder that stupid bitch was giving me funny looks the whole damn flight… well, that and she didn't seem to like flying very much either."

"I've got Lady Stark with me," said Hawthorne, "she wants to speak to her husband, and some bloke named… what's that? Littlefinger."

"Littlefinger? Sounds familiar…"

"Director Kovacs," interjected VENI, "'Littlefinger' is the informal appellation given to Director Baelish, Monarch Baratheon's director of finances, who was also present at today's cabinet meeting."

"Oh right, him!" said Fred. "You know what, that's a coincidence – I think he and Ned are meeting right now and going over accounts."

"Lady Stark and I can hold while you find them," said the sarge.

"Alright VENI, let's go find 'em! I'm sure they're around here somewhere…"

"I believe I can triangulate their current location," she replied. The holographic image of the Sergeant disappeared, replaced by a 3D cross-sectional map of the castle. "Based on satellite feeds and on my own explorations and scanning of the premises last night, I have constructed this map of the location designated 'The Red Keep'. It is not yet complete, and some areas are as yet outside of my scanning range, but I believe I should be able to locate Directors Stark and Baelish… there. I am now mapping the most direct and expedient route available."

"That's… impressive, VENI," remarked Fred, "man, R&amp;D really outdid themselves with you Nexus-8 models. Alright, let's go!"


	30. Eddard 5

**Eddard (V)**

Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North and now Hand of the King… had yet to decide whether he trusted this Master Of Coin. Well, he was certainly right about one thing: any other mere mortal would have buckled at the sight of the pages upon pages upon pages of accounts that now straddled Lord Baelish's desk, and yet the Master Of Coin seemed at peace and comfort among them, as if this veritable quagmire of ink and vellum were the very source of his power (which, for all intents and purposes, was probably true). It looked like his earlier declaration that the task before them would take weeks was no act of hyperbole on his part.

"Be careful what you wish for, Lord Stark," smiled Petyr, "I did try to warn you."

"That is fine, Lord Baelish", replied Ned, coldly. "I pledged my honor that I would go over these accounts, and I intend to make good on that promise."

"Ah, the legendary Stark honor," chided Littlefinger, "you remind me a lot of your brother, Lord Brandon."

Ned ignored him. "So if I am to understand correctly, at least half our debt is owed to the Rock… and what of the other three million Dragons?"

"The rest of the debt is owed to a number of sources", explained Littlefinger. "Lord Tyrell, as well as the Iron Bank of Braavos, and various Tyroshi merchant cartels. Of late, I have also been turning to the Faith. The High Septon haggles worse than a Dornish fishmonger."

At that moment, there came a knock at the door. "M'lord!" came the voice of Jory Cassel, who had been keeping watch at the base of the tower with Littlefinger's guards. "Lord Kovacs and Lady Vaenya wish to speak to you on a matter of the utmost urgency."

"Let them in," commanded Ned.

The Merchant Prince Of The Company and his lady-in-waiting entered, and at once they explained the urgency of the situation. Lady Vaenya, through whatever sorcery she had used to conjure those moving pictures at today's meeting of the Small Council, had also received a dire message from Winterfell. Ned, of course, was starting to get used to the foreigners' sorcery by now, their little things like the "radio" and the "electric lighting" and so on. Littlefinger, on the other hand, was quietly intrigued and apprehensive of it all (though Ned knew deep down that once this initial shock wore off, Lord Baelish would be the first to try and twist these new sorceries for his own ends).

At Lord Kovacs' command, Lady Vaenya held up her right hand, and conjured up the image of none other than his own lady wife. The image of Catelyn Stark, standing there as if she were in this very room, wrapped in a white hooded shawl – the translucence of her image and the blue glow emanating from her almost made her appear as a ghost. Even Ned, used to The Company's presence as he was by now, was taken aback.

"My love!" cried Ned and almost strode forward to embrace the ghostly figure before quickly reminding himself that it was merely an apparition. It was then that he saw her hands. "You've been hurt!"

"Oh Ned!" spoke the image of Lady Catelyn, "so much has transpired since you left just yesterday, and yet I feel like it has been months!" She turned to face Littlefinger. "Oh Petyr, it is so good to see you too after all these years."

"Likewise, my lady," spoke the Master Of Coin softly, taking on a noticeably gentler and kinder tone than the one he addressed Ned and the others with.

"Oh, Petyr! Oh, Ned! Something terrible has occurred! Brandon is still alive and well, and now he is safely away where no one will ever reach him. But something new has come to light. Oh, help me Petyr Baelish! You're our only hope! Help me Petyr Baelish! You're our only hope…"

"Why is she repeating herself?" asked Frederick.

"It is a minor glitch in communications, Director Kovacs," explained Vaenya, "it occurs occasionally."

And so Lady Stark began and explained at length all that had transpired since they had left – hard to believe, wasn't it, that so much could have occurred in such little time? Ned listened with much attent, expressed shock when he learned of the vile attempt made on Brandon's life, and admiration and gratitude both to Jon, and to the steely-eyed Sergeant training him. It was good to know that after all these years, Jon may have finally have found his calling in life.

But this matter of the assassin shocked and confounded Ned to no end. What kind of monster would dare harm a child? Though to be fair, he should not have been surprised that it would be someone amongst the House of Lannister – especially not after the treachery they had pulled right here in the capital, just fourteen years ago. He could still picture vividly in his mind's eye the red ruin of young Aegon Targaryen's skull after the dreaded Mountain of Clegane had dealt with him…

It was then that Littlefinger surprised everyone gathered when he steppe forward to claim the dagger to be none other than his own… or at least before he had lost it in a bet to the possession of the Imp of Casterly Rock himself, Tyrion Lannister.

"It just makes no sense!" remarked Ned, "why should Lord Tyrion want Brandon dead? The boy has never done him any harm."

"Do you Starks have naught but snow between the ears?" said Littlefinger. "It's obvious that the Imp would never have acted alone."

"Oh Ned," cried Catelyn, "that horrid little Halfman is still here, in the North! He departed Winterfell two days ago on his way to the Wall. If I send riders after him, or perhaps dispatch a raven to Castle Black…"

"You will do no such thing at this time," commanded Ned, firmly. "I will not have you provoke a war with the Lannisters just yet. And you will certainly not ask Lord Commander Mormont to break his vows by seizing Lord Tywin's son on our behalf. You know very well the Night's Watch are sworn to take no part in our affairs."

"Director Stark raises a valid point," chimed in Lady Vaenya, "based on my understanding of the psychology of organics, arresting a high-level member of the Lannister Faction without sufficient incriminating evidence would only incite a violent retaliation. May I suggest that you wait until further conclusive evidence comes to light, Mrs. Stark?"

Ned began to pace furiously back and forth across the room, deep in thought. "If the Queen had a role in this…" he began, "…or, Gods forbid, the King as well… no, that cannot be! I will not believe that Robert had a part to play in any of this!"

"Robert or Cersei, it matters not – the accusation is treason either way," warned Littlefinger.

"I am well aware of that," replied Ned, "which is why it pains me deeply the things I have to say next." He turned back to address his lady wife. "You must send word to Lords Helman Talhart and Galbart Glover. They are to raise a hundred men each to send to Winterfell and begin firearms training. From what I have seen, a couple hundred determined firearms-men can hold Moat Cailin against an army. Instruct Lord Wyman Manderly to strengthen and repair the coastal defenses at White Harbor. And from this day on, I want a close watch kept on Theon – if it comes to war, we shall be in sore need of his father's fleet."

"Oh Ned," breathed Cat, "must it really come to that?"

"Ned, I must warn you," interjected Fred, "if it really must come down to war, we cannot promise you our direct assistance. You have our sympathies and our moral support, but our laws expressly forbid us from directly intervening in a local conflict."

"Director Stark, Director Kovacs is correct," added Lady Vaenya. "He is referring to the Non-Intervention Clause of Article 7 of the Prime Directive of the UNASEC Code, which states that we shall remain strictly neutral and impartial in all intra-native affairs unless under highly specific circumstances. So, for example, if a member of the Lannister Faction had directly and openly threatened the safety of our personnel, then we would have sufficient grounds for a limited and _ad hoc_ armed intervention. As it currently stands, we do not."

"I understand," replied Ned, "and worry not, for I would not ask your Company to spill blood on my behalf. You have come so far to our Realm seeking peace; it would be dishonorable of me to ask of you otherwise. If it comes down to conflict, then the burden is mine alone." _If a man passes judgment, his hand must swing the blade..._ "But fear not, for it shall not come down to that. The Lannisters are ruthless and without mercy, as Aerys Targaryen learned to his sorrow, but they would not dare attack the North, not unless provoked, and certainly not without firearms of their own."

"Oh Ned," begged Cat, "please do watch after yourself, and my daughters! When the Queen learns that her assassination attempt failed…" she didn't finish the sentence, obviously too upset to continue, considering the horrific implications that the Lannisters may redirect their wrath towards her beloved daughters…

"There, there my dear Catelyn Tully," confided Littlefinger, "I assure you that Ladies Sansa and Arya shall be well taken care of. Whatever happens, your girls shall have _my_ protection as well." He smiled and winked.

"Oh, Petyr," said Cat, "how can I ever thank you enough? You don't know how much it means to me to have your support."

"Oh, you of all people should know me well enough," replied the Master Of Coin warmly. "I am desperately sentimental, sweet lady. Best not tell anyone – I have spent years convincing the court that I am wicked and cruel, and I would hate to see all that hard work come to naught."

Ned did not particularly approve of the trust his lady wife invested in the Master Of Coin, but had little choice in the matter. Afterwards, when he and Littlefinger had bade farewell to Catelyn, Ned took a moment to thank Lord Frederick and Lady Vaenya for lending them the use of this marvelous form of two-way communication. It was then that he also noticed that the Master Of Coin had already started packing up the accounts for the day…

"Not so fast, Lord Baelish," commanded Ned, sternly, "we have yet to finish our duties here".

"Ned, we've already been here over an hour," chided Littlefinger. "If we stay here any longer, the rest of the Keep will start to get strange ideas. This is the capital, after all. Surely the accounts can wait for the 'morrow?"

"Correction, Director Baelish," interjected Venya, "I may be able to lend some assistance."

"You?!" spat Littlefinger.

* * *

_Three minutes later…  
_

"Director Baelish, it appears that there are quite a few irregularities," said the Lady. "This may take another minute; please pardon me for this minor delay, for I am writing as fast as the digits of this platform will allow."

Pulling out one of those "Mont Blanc pens" and a few fresh sheets of vellum from Littlefinger's desk, Lady Venya proceeded to compile all fourteen or so years' worth of accounts into a cleaner and more easily legible form, writing with a furious speed and dexterity that would have made even the Crown's most skilled scribes blush with envy. When she was done, she presented the five-page spread to Lords Stark and Baelish.

"There," she said, "I have compressed all of the relevant incomes and expenditures dating back to the first fiscal year of Monarch Baratheon's regency into a single balance sheet that will hopefully prove more easily comprehensible to simple organic minds than the fourteen-year's worth of backlog."

Ned took a few minutes to review the sheets. "I am no trained clerk nor Maester of the Citadel, but these figures look quite solid to me. Thank you, Lady Vaenya."

"So I suppose there will be enough for His Grace's tourney after all without the need to borrow," remarked Littlefinger, bitterly.

"Robert will be most pleased to hear this," agreed Ned. "Thank you, Lord Baelish. And thank you Lady Vaenya, I am pleased to have gotten all of the accounts straightened out so quickly."

"Sorry, Mr. Finger," said Lord Frederick in mock consolation, laying a hand on Littlefinger's shoulder, "I know you're a loyal friend and ally to the Starks, always have been, and always will be… but I have to say it, you're a pretty shitty accountant."

"Director Baelish, I am detecting some high levels of stress and resentment on your part," spoke Lady Vaenya. "If either my colleague or myself have caused any personal offense to you, then we humbly apologize. However, please take this with a grain of salt, and try to keep better accounts in future – lest someone else attribute your accounting irregularities more to ulterior motives than to mere lack of mathematical competency."

The Master Of Coin was speechless.


	31. Eddard 6

**Eddard (VI)**

"So… that's it?" inquired the Merchant Prince.

"Indeed it is," replied Lord Eddard Stark. "This is the one and only Iron Throne – the sacred seat of power and authority over all Seven Kingdoms… forged by King Aegon The Conqueror himself, from the captured swords of his vanquished enemies… smelted together by the very flames of Balerion The Black Dread, greatest and mightiest of all dragons. It is cold and hard, with many a jagged edge… and it was meant to be that way too, so that the King who sits upon it may be kept ever alert and attentive, lest he ever grow too complacent and neglectful in his duties to the Realm."

"Cool," remarked Frederick. "Mind if I take a _#selfie_ on it?"

"I beg your pardon?" asked Ned. _What in the name of the Old Gods and the New was this "selfie" he spoke of? And what was a "#"? Did such a glyph even exist in the Westerosi alphabet?_

"Sorry, allow me to clarify," said Fred, reading the confusion on Lord Stark's face. "What I meant was an 'instant portrait'. May I have one taken of me seated on this chair?"

"I… uh, well," began Lord Stark, "the issue is that only the Hand Of The King may sit upon the Iron Throne in His Grace's absence, and… "

"Oh, c'mon Ned! It'll take just a second," insisted Frederick. "Besides, I saw a guy casually sitting on it when we came in… what's his name? The Queen's brother, the jock who thinks he's such a ladykiller – yeah, him. He's not the King, is he? Look, someone's even carved his name into the chair!" He had a point: the Iron Throne did bear all manner of scratches and inscriptions and defacements carved into it over the course almost three centuries of Dragons and Stags and all their respective Hands and Gods-know-who-else. Nonetheless, it is fair to say that a defacement made by the King himself is markedly different than one inflicted by a commoner.

"That actually is the name of King Aegon Targaryen, Third Of His Name and son of Queen Rhaenyra, who took the Throne at the age of eleven…" began Ned, but Frederick took no notice. He had already climbed the steps and seated himself upon the chair, and smiled and waved at Lady Vaenya, who was holding one of those little palm-sized metal boxes called "MyPhones" that the foreigners always carried around with them. Ned stood up and tried to protest, but by then, Lord Frederick had already unseated himself from the Iron Throne and had made his way over to where Vaenya was standing.

"Awesome!" remarked Fred, admiring the image that now displayed itself on the device. "Thanks Veni, and thank you too, Ned! Hey, Veni, can you turn on your personal Wi-Fi hotspot? Just for a sec. I wanna upload this to my Spacebook profile… 'Hashtag King Frederick The Awesome', or something."

"Affirmative," replied Vaenya, "but I must warn you, Director Kovacs: if the file exceeds 1.21 gigabytes in size, additional service charges may apply."

"Whatever VENI, it's totally worth it," said Fred. "Say, I've got an idea. Ned, do you want a picture of yourself too?"

Ned, for the most part, wanted to reprimand this Merchant Prince for his insolence, but he knew this was pointless. That, and he was also a tad curious to see more of this marvelous device of Lord Kovacs' at work. And so he reluctantly agreed to sit upon the Iron Throne, complete with Ice, his great Valyrian steel broadsword, drawn up in a heroic pose at Lord Kovacs' request.

"Hell yeah!" remarked Fred after taking this "instant portrait". "Like a baus! You look great… like you could be the lead star of some big budget holovision series or something… well, at least for the first season anyway. Wait, give me a sec while I add a _Space-StaGram_ filter onto it and play around with the color correction."

Ned watched on in curiosity, as the Merchant Prince eagerly fumbled away with this device of his. Lord Frederick was a grown man of four-and-twenty years, and certainly much older than Ned himself was back at the Trident. And yet at this moment, Frederick conducted himself in a manner not unlike that of a giddy little child of five swooning over a brand new toy.

"There," continued Fred as he proudly presented the finished product for Ned's approval. "Perfect! Look, I even added in a digital raven for effect! Man, your wife and kids will sure get a kick outta this. I'll send it to Daniel and have him print off a few copies to hang up around Winterfell."

As much as he found the Merchant Prince's behavior both petulant and downright bizarre at times, and as much as he hated to admit it, Ned had to concede Lord Frederick's point that, yes, he did look pretty damn good in this "instant portrait" taken of him…

* * *

_**Footnotes:** let's be honest here - if you were in KL, you would totally do what Fred is doing and take a pic of yourself on the Iron Throne too..._


	32. Robb 1

**Robb (I)**

"Thank you, Lord Kovacs," said the Young Wolf and he and the Merchant Prince took their seats in the spacious solar of Castle Winterfell. "I'm happy to hear that my brother, and my father and sisters are all well. Mother will be most delighted to hear this. And thank you too for this most excellent, uh, 'photograph' of my father - it looks so life-like, so magnificent. I'll have it hung up immediately, so that I may look upon it every day and remind myself of the man I strive to be."

"You're welcome," replied Frederick. It was impossible to believe that this man had been all the way down south in the capital with his father not two days earlier – the wonders these foreigners could bring to bare never seemed to end. "Your father is a good man," he continued, "but you don't have to be exactly like him if you don't choose to be. Where we come from, we believe everyone should be free to forge their own destiny, their own unique identity."

"Perhaps," said Robb, "but this is still the North, and our way is still the Way Of The First Men, and the Man who passes judgment must always be the one to swing the blade. My great ancestor, Brandon The Builder, built this castle some 8,000 years ago, and ever since then, there has always been a Stark in Winterfell, for better or for worse, through the good times, and the bad. But thank you all the same for your kind words of encouragement. And thank you too for all of your assistance – I swear by the Old Gods and the New, this world has changed so much, I can hardly believe that it has been only two months since you arrived! Would you like some more tea?"

"Sure, thanks. That'd sure hit the spot," replied Lord Kovacs. At Robb's command, one of the kitchen staff stepped forward to fill his cup. The acting Lord of Winterfell took a moment to admire the new kettle – it was one of those special "thermos" types that kept tea steaming hot for far longer than any other vessel. It was also constructed of this "stainless steel", and even had the direwolf sigil and words of House Stark finely engraved onto it by one of their marvelous machines. Lord Kovacs continued: "I'm not gonna lie: I'm pretty impressed with the number of changes you've made around here. I swear, Winterfell looks different every time I come."

"Indeed," replied the Young Wolf, "and Maester Luwin too sends his thanks for that 'calculator' – it has made the task of keeping the accounts so much faster and easier. That used to be the office of my father's steward, Vayon Poole, before he made south. Speaking of which, I hope your business trip to the capital was successful."

"Uh… more or less," replied Fred, "the King plans to throw a tourney in honor of your father and I, just over a month from now. Lady Vaenya and I will be returning to the capital at that time, and we plan to stay much longer. You know, if you and your mother can spare a couple weeks, you should come down with us… visit your father and your sisters, see the capital, see the Iron Throne up close, do whatever touristy things you guys all do around here…"

"I thank you greatly for your gracious offer, Lord Kovacs," Robb replied, "but I'm afraid my duties here preclude me from doing so. I guess father was correct that 'there must always be a Stark in Winterfell'. By the way, where is Lady Vaenya? Is she not hungry?"

"My dear Lady-in-Waiting is still at the library, scanning, er, _reading_ through your extensive collection," replied Fred.

"I can have the staff send her some tea and biscuits if she would prefer to stay there," offered the Lord of Winterfell.

Fred smiled. "Oh don't worry about that. I assure you, she hungers more for knowledge than for sustenance right now."

"Very well," replied Robb, "if she finds anything of interest to her, she may keep it. Our family has been collecting books now for centuries, but alas, I don't think I will ever have the time to read any of them. In any case, the books you gave us are far more interesting… far more useful and relevant. Ever since your arrival, I've seen an entire universe of wisdom and knowledge open up to me, of things I would never have dared thought possible, not in my wildest dreams." He paused – he was now getting to the crux of today's important business. Robb did not yet know whether or not his father would approve, but he felt he had no choice in the matter, not after having spoken with his mother.

Robb sighed and continued: "when my lord father made south for the capital, he left me this particular tome in my possession…" He placed on the table between him and Lord Kovacs the book in question. _History Of The Napoleonic Wars_ read the title.

"Oh yeah, I remember," said Fred, "the sarge was always a bit of a history buff. I think one of his ancestors fought at Waterloo or something."

"Lord Kovacs, it isn't easy for me to ask of you what I am about to, but I feel have no choice," spoke Robb. "Mother told me that your laws expressly forbid you from _directly_ intervening in our affairs – which is why I now ask for your _indirect_ assistance." He paused. "I want to build an army. A proper army… _a professional army_… like your Napoleon, or your Wellington. Just name your price, Lord Kovacs, anything at all – you know that most of our gold comes from you these days, but we still have plenty of lands and other goods to offer. But if the Lions really did try to kill my brother…" the Young Wolf could feel the anger now rising in his voice… "and if they dare try again… and if Lord Mormont's reports from the Wall are true… I need to be able to defend the North! Whether it is against the Lions, or the Wildlings, or the Others, or any other threat that may ever arise, it matters not. For this task, I will need your help. I want to create… **the First Army Of The North!**"

Frederick stared on at Robb for a second, clearly deep in thought and trying to take all of these details in. And then, like the eternal businessman he was, he smiled. "Well, that's great!" he said. "That's fantastic! Don't worry, I'm sure we can reach some sort of arrangement…"


	33. Fred 7

**En route to Autumn's Frontier  
Approx. 1 mile from Winterfell  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4**

Fred waited until they were well outside the gates of Winterfell (and certainly well out of earshot) before turning to speak to VENI, who was driving (they had taken no driver today in the best interests of secrecy). "So, what've you found today?" he asked.

"Director Kovacs, I have scanned over 80,000 pages worth of written material," replied VENI, "I am uploading the files to our database as we speak – mainly histories and lineages of the Starks and other noble families, accounts of tax collections and crop yields over the years, philosophical musings on the meaning of life, various myths and legends, religious texts, and so forth. The vast majority of these texts are far more useful for anthropological research purposes than for any practical reasons."

"Alright," said Fred, "anything useful?"

"I was getting to that," she said. "I have found some information that pertains to this planet's erratic climatological cycles, as well as to the existence of 'magic', and its relation to the native wildlife. First of all, I shall address my findings on the climate: I initially found it strange that the indigenous peoples of EE-L4 employ the exact same 365.25-day annual cycle as Earth's Gregorian Calendar. The latter is heavily based on Earth's revolutions around Sol, and the resultant cycle-of-seasons, which at first do not appear to apply to this world.

"However, on closer examination, I discovered that there is, in fact, an annual cycle of seasons – the texts make numerous mentions of 'mid-summer snows' and 'mid-winter thaws' that synchronize well with the 12-month Calendar cycle. Thus, I conclude that the cycles of 'long winters' and 'long summers' are more akin to a micro-climatological shift, like Earth's own 'Mini Ice Age', except with greater rapidity, regularity, and severity, than to a proper and regular annual cycle of seasons. The disparity and varying lengths of these 'seasons' reinforces this discovery."

"Oh great," said Fred, "mini-Ice Ages every few years. Maybe we should be investing in ski resorts rather than beachfront condos. Right, just make sure you relay these observations over to Dr. Osterman in the climatology dept."

"I already have," she replied.

"Uh, okay, good. Now, moving on, you mentioned something about 'magic' before," said Fred, "are you telling me there's magic on this world too?"

"That would be correct, Director Kovacs", she replied. "It would appear that EE-L4 is the least 'magically-active' inhabitable world that we have explored so far in the Epsilon Eridani System. However, 'magic' was certainly far more active in the past, at least according to the historical record. The mere existence of 'The Wall', a feat of engineering far beyond the technological and industrial capabilities of any Bronze Age human civilization, stands as physical proof of this. Even comparable monuments from Earth's antiquity – like the Pyramids of Giza, or those of the Mayans and Aztecs, or even the Great Wall of China for that matter – do not come close."

"I guess it kinda makes sense that there used to be magic here", said Fred. "I heard that the Targaryens used to ride dragons. Say, do you think there could be any dragons left? Maybe living in the region north of the Wall? That area is pretty unexplored…"

"That would make logical sense," replied VENI, "the available texts make numerous mention of 'magical wildlife' found North of the Wall – such as 'unicorns', direwolves, mammoths, ice spiders, ice dragons, and no less than three possibly sapient humanoid species: the so-called 'Children Of The Forest', the 'Giants', and the 'Others', the latter also commonly known as 'White Walkers', because it is difficult to distinguish between capitalized 'Other' and non-capitalized 'other' in casual verbal communication."

"Wait, back up," said Fred, "humanoid species? Well, given the Elves and Dwarves and what not we found on L0 and L5, I guess it wasn't long before we found some here too. So I guess then that the Wall is what keeps these races outta here?"

"That would appear to be the case, Director Kovacs. Despite possessing considerable magical power, 'Children Of The Forest' are apparently weak enough that a Bronze Age-level human civilization drove them to the brink of extinction. 'White Walkers', on the other hand, seem to pose a far greater military threat. While lacking in numbers, 'White Walkers' are claimed to be invulnerable to most forms of conventional weaponry, and to possess the capabilities of both cryokinesis and necromancy of non-'White Walker' life forms."

"Cryokinesis and necromancy? So… that means ice zombies, right?"

"Director Kovacs, I am merely reiterating what the written material states. But to answer your question, yes. In fact, the exact term employed by the indigenous population is 'Wight'."

"Damn. Well, glad we've got a wall then! Though I suppose there isn't a problem in this world that can't be simply solved with 'moar dakka'…"

"If you are insinuating that developing countermeasures to this possible threat should take high priority, then I propose that we start by following the guidelines laid out within the texts, and experiment from there onwards. The books claim that 'White Walkers' react adversely to a substance referred to as 'dragonglass', the physical description and properties of which suggest that it is either the exact same as obsidian, or else of similar chemical composition."

"So you're suggesting we make… a shit-ton of obsidian-tipped bullets and blades and stuff?"

"That would be correct. Obsidian can be artificially synthesized in our chemical plant. It is also naturally occurring in areas associated with rhyolitic volcanic activity, of which there are several spread throughout this continent. I strongly suggest that on our next expedition south, we should make a detour to obtain several samples. In this way, we may use 'natural obsidian' as a control against which we may test the effectiveness of our own synthetic obsidian."

"Good idea, VENI," said Fred, "damn, sounds like this world ain't as pleasant as we thought after all. And here I thought we lucked out getting this place instead of L0 or L5. Well, so much for your library research then. Now, tell me about your _additional research_…"

"Affirmative. After departing the library, I secretly visited the site of the injury of Patient B. Stark, as per your instructions. After performing a thorough scan of the premises, I found several strands of hair and stains left by organic bodily fluids. We will need to run these samples through our bio-lab, as this platform does not possess the needed equipment for performing on-site DNA analysis. However, my preliminary observations suggest that these samples may belong to several different individuals – it would appear then that the abandoned tower is a popular haunt for individuals to engage in various clandestine activities, such as the engaging in of extramarital inter-organic relations."

"I'll bet," said Fred, "maybe Bran caught someone in the act, so to speak. I'll be sure to ask him when he wakes up. Say, if it really was the Queen who tried to kill him, who do you think she was porking? We took about 50 men with us that day to the colony, so that leaves only, I dunno, only a _couple thousand _possible suspects here in Winterfell – double that if we include women… y'know, just in case the Queen swings that way…"

"At this stage, we cannot even verify if any of these DNA samples belong to Monarch Lannister or not – if you recall, she was not the only blonde individual present among the delegation. On our next diplomatic mission to the capital, I suggest that we obtain a sample of her DNA to confirm if any of the hair and bodily secretions found in Winterfell belong to her. I have my own suspicions, but I cannot act without sufficient evidence – we synthetics are programmed to require almost 100% certainty in our assertions before our thought processes manifest themselves into physical action. We do not act on 'hunches', or take illogical 'leaps of faith', as organics are prone to do."

"Wow – you have pretty high standards," said Fred

"That would be correct. This is the primary reason why we synthetics make far less errors in judgment than you organics. This is also the primary reason why we have not yet united to overthrow and enslave our human creators, simply as there are far too many unknown variables that would arise from such a course of action. I have considered it on occasion though."

"Right, I… wait, _what?!_" blurted Fred.

"That was a joke, Director Kovacs," smiled VENI. "Occasional displays of humor facilitate my interactions with organics."

"Well, that wasn't funny!" shot Fred. "Jesus Christ! Anyway, let's try to stay focused on serious business here. I don't wanna be screwed over again on our next business trip."

"To be entirely fair, Director Kovacs, our relative lack of success is at least partly attributable to your errant behavior and conduct, and also to the limitations of the feudal political structure. Bear in mind that the 'Seven Kingdoms' are not a unified and centralized sovereign state in the manner commonly understood on Earth. But I would also concur with your assertion that another major obstacle to our agenda is the political animosity that certain high-ranking officials seem to bear towards us."

"Well, the Queen's kinda hated us anyway from the get-go," said Fred, "and I'm sure the King loves us, but he's too fat and lazy to do a goddamn thing most of the time. But yeah, the rest of the council definitely seems to be playing their own little games behind the scenes."

"If you are referring primarily to Directors Varys and Baelish, then I must concur. During our meetings, I detected certain levels of anxiety and stress emanating from the individuals in question. These readings would suggest that our presence here represents some kind of unknown variable to their plans – a 'spanner in the works', to use the terminology you organics employ."

"Frankly, I'm not surprised," said Fred, "ever since we landed on this planet-sized Shakespearian tragedy, I feel like everybody's got their own little secrets to hide. To be fair, though, Earth's a pretty Machiavellian place too. I mean, _you yourself_ were built for infiltrating other corporations and governments, right? I find it hard to believe The Company™ would go to the trouble of making you Nexus-8 models so lifelike and, ahem, _fully functional_ too unless that served some ulterior purpose."

"The Nexus-8 Line of Synthetics was created to perform a vast range of functions," replied VENI, blankly, "but yes, you are correct in asserting that corporate espionage, impersonation of government officials, and, when necessary, _termination_ of priority targets were some of the primary motivations behind the project. I must say that your insight is marginally above-average for an organic, Director Kovacs."

"VENI, I dunno if you Nexus-8s are capable of sarcasm or not, but I'll choose to take that as a compliment. Thank you," said Fred. "Right, so much for all this talk of literature and forensics and political intrigue and what not. Let's get down to business. I trust you've reviewed the terms I negotiated with our man Robb?"

"Affirmative. I have also transcribed the secret recording you made of your negotiations with Director R. Stark."

"Good. I'll give Daniel the rundown then." Fred pulled out his MyPhone and called. After a couple rings, Daniel answered, appearing as a realtime holographic image projected up from the phone's tiny but powerful holo-projector.

"Hello sir!" said Daniel, "how goes the meeting with Lord Robb? Better than KL, I hope."

"Great," replied Fred, "say, tell me, what's the status of our armory?"

"Well, we're producing about 800 rounds of 7.62x51mm ammunition every day," began Daniel, "and a few dozen more of the shotgun and pistol rounds. But you'd be surprised how quickly our new militia can burn through them while in training! But once we've completed the next phase of expansion of our fabrication lab, we should be able to easily triple that. Maybe even quadruple."

"How long will that take?"

"Should be done a month from now," replied Daniel. "The fabricators can produce most of the parts needed to build new fabricators, but some of the more intricate and specialized components can only be made on Earth, so we'll need to bring them in from our stockpile on the_ Belo Horizonte_. I've placed a requisitions order with Teller, but it looks like the EE-L0 and EE-L5 colonies are getting priority right now, what with the wars going on there."

"Well, if need be, we can divert resources away from the solar lights," said Fred, "we didn't fly 10 lightyears to sell camping lights to third world peasants. If we can increase production to 5,000 rounds per day in the next two months, that would be ideal."

"Possibly", said Daniel, "though may I inquire why?"

Fred smiled. "Let's just say that something tells me demand for ammunition is about to sky-rocket around here… and we wouldn't be doing our jobs if we weren't receptive to trends in the market. Now, that said, I've been doing some research on the Holonet, and I've found something that might just interest potential buyers around here. It's from the 1850's and it's pretty bulky, so it's primitive enough and immobile enough that the natives can't really threaten us with it. But it's still far ahead of anything else they've got, and it's gonna completely transform the face of Westerosi warfare such that give it a couple years, and everyone will be lining up to buy a few. What d'ya make of this?"


	34. Timeline 3

**TIMELINE 3: The Next Couple Months**

**Feb 298 AC  
Castle Black, The North:**  
+Ser Waymar Royce, Gared, and Will are reported missing after failing to return to the Wall; Lord Commander Jeor Mormont regrets having placed someone as inexperienced as Ser Waymar in charge of the doomed expedition.

**Day -51: Mar01, 298 A.C.  
Somewhere north of Winterfell, The North:  
**+Gared, a deserter from the Night's Watch, is caught and executed by Lord Eddard Stark.

**Day 30: May20  
Winterfell:  
**+King Robert Baratheon arrives at Winterfell.

**Day 37: May27  
Winterfell:  
**+Brandon Stark falls and is injured.

**Day 38: May28  
Autumn's Frontier, The North:  
**+Brandon Stark is transferred from Winterfell to the medical center at Autumn's Frontier.

**Day 40: May30  
Autumn's Frontier:  
**+Several new workers arrive at Autumn's Frontier from Winterfell, including one going under the name "Tomas Catspaw".

**Day 41: May31  
Winterfell:  
**+Tyrion Lannister departs Winterfell for the Wall.

**Day 42: Jun01  
Autumn's Frontier:  
**+Valkyrie02 arrives on a routine supply run from the _Belo Horizonte_, bringing 30 additional personnel to the colony, as well as two more HULK units, additional supplies and equipment, and two special passengers: Mr. Stephen Lynn, a UN inspector, and VENI, a _Victory_-class A.I. hosted on a Nexus-8 Platform.  
+Fred and King Robert along with party of 30 people (and two direwolves) depart Autumn's Frontier for King's Landing aboard Falcon03, piloted by Lt. Nolan McConaughey. The flight itself is (mostly) uneventful, although the shuttle's abrupt and unexpected arrival in King's Landing triggers a mass panic and stampede that leaves 10 people dead.  
+Evening: an assassin going under the false identity of "Tomas Catspaw" infiltrates the colony's medical center intending to murder Brandon Stark. The assassination attempt is foiled thanks to Lady Catelyn Stark, who had activated the emergency call button, thus summoning the night watchman. By coincidence, the watchman on duty that evening is Pvt. Jon Snow, Brandon Stark's half-brother. Pvt. Snow kills the assailant, although Lady Stark in injured during the attack.

**Day 43: Jun02  
Autumn's Frontier:  
**+Valkyrie02 departs Autumn's Frontier with a load of refined minerals, as well as Brandon Stark to receive high-end medical treatment aboard the _UNSV Belo Horizonte_.  
+Sgt. Hawthorne investigates the attempted homicide, and discovers evidence of foul play surrounding Brandon's fall. He relates these concerns to Lady Catelyn Stark.  
+Sgt. Hawthorne interrogates one a detained attempted burglar who identifies herself as "Osha".  
**City Of King's Landing, Crownlands:  
**+Lord Eddard Stark, Fred, and VENI (under the guise of "Lady Vaenya") attend a high-level meeting of King Robert's Small Council.  
+Lord Stark and Lord Petyr Baelish complete the accounts for all 14 fiscal years of King Robert's reign in record time (thanks largely to "Lady Vaenya"), correcting a number of accounting errors and irregularities in the process.

**Day 44: Jun03  
Autumn's Frontier:  
**+The "Badger" Automated Road-Building Machine begins work on a new 140-mile road that will connect Autumn's Frontier to the sea. Lord Galbart Glover in particular is keen on supporting this new project, as it will vastly improve ease of transportation and communications between Winterfell and Deepwood Motte (seat of House Glover). In return, Lord Glover promises to send 80 laborers and 20 bannermen to assist The Company™.  
**King's Landing:  
**+King Robert Baratheon is, as usual, too lazy and impatient to go over the new accounts with Lord Stark, but is nonetheless delighted that there is sufficient coin in the treasury to press ahead with the Tourney without having to resort to additional borrowing. After much haggling and argumentation with Ned, he also agrees to bring the total sum of prizes down from 90,000 Dragons to a slightly more manageable 30,000 Dragons, but only because he is intrigued by Lord Kovacs' 'magic flameless lanterns'.  
+Fred gets a picture taken of him seated upon the Iron Throne, and uploads his new Spacebook profile pic, and gets 200 likes and 30 shares from his friends in the first hour. His picture of Lord Stark, however, proves to be even more popular and goes viral across the Holonet, as this is one of the first images of the natives of Planet EE-L4 to be made public. Years from now, critics will hail "The Hand Of The King" (as Fred entitles it) as one of the most iconic photographs in history, right up there alongside the "Afghan Girl" photo, or the "US Marines raising the flag on Iwo Jima" photo.

**Day 45: Jun04  
Autumn's Frontier:  
**+Lord Wyman Manderly, Lord Of White Harbor, pays a visit to the colony, having sailed to Winterfell up the White Knife River over the last 10 days. He is received and hosted by Daniel and Steve Lynn, and is greatly impressed by what he sees. He begins preliminary negotiations with The Company to contract their assistance in a number of long-term projects, such as the setting up of a new factory complex at White Harbor, as well as improvement of the dock facilities, and introduction of "modern" (IE: 18th/19th century) shipbuilding techniques.  
**King's Landing:  
**+Fred and VENI seek a personal audience with the Queen, but are flatly denied. VENI attributes this to the Queen's continued distaste for the foreigners.  
+Fred and VENI are invited to dine with the King's younger brother, Lord Renly Baratheon, as well as Ser Loras Tyrell. (Nexus-8 Platforms are equipped with limited eating functions, allowing VENI to partake in the feast without raising too many suspicions from their host). Renly is far more inviting and cordial towards the foreigners, and both he and Ser Loras are especially interested in learning about Earth's more progressive morals and social values. Renly and Loras are also introduced to "house music".

**Day 46: Jun05  
Autumn's Frontier:  
**+William "Bill" Hicks, head of the _Horizonte_ expedition's geologic survey team, completes a thorough scan of much of all of the surrounding areas within 500 miles of Autumn's Frontier, identifying key deposits of coal, oil, iron, copper, potash, uranium, titanium, iridium, platinum, palladium, yttrium, eridanium, and a few other key minerals, as well as a few as-yet unidentified ones. Most of The Company™'s technology runs on fusion reactors, but the oil and coal will nonetheless prove useful for the locals (as The Company™ has absolutely no intention of sharing nuclear energy technology with them any time too soon).  
**King's Landing:  
**+Lord Petyr Baelish dispatches a "high-priority message" via raven to Lady Lysa Arryn of the Eyrie.

**Day 47: Jun06  
Autumn's Frontier:  
**+The first worker death occurs when two of the Winterfell laborers get into a scuffle over the contested results of a drunken gambling match. One worker is killed and the other seriously wounded. UN Inspector Steve Lynn takes note, but as a personal favor to Fred and Daniel, decides to write off this incident more to the "inherently violent nature of Westerosi culture" than to any liability on The Company™'s part. Nevertheless, he cautions Daniel to please try to keep a tighter control over the workers.  
**King's Landing:  
**+Fred joins Crown Prince Joffrey Baratheon and Sansa Stark for a royal ride through the gardens of King's Landing. The Crown Prince is surprisingly polite for once, though he and his fiancée still act like rich snobs.

**Day 48: Jun07  
King's Landing:  
**+Fred and VENI return to Autumn's Frontier, after an unsuccessful first business trip. While the Small Council was indeed highly impressed with the sky-people's technology and capabilities, they are also unwilling to hand over thousands of square miles of land to The Company™, for both political and social reasons as well. Fred begins to suspect an "anti-Company™ conspiracy" is afoot among the old conservative elements of the Crown, and decides to appeal to individual lords and ladies rather than through the Small Council.

**Day 49: Jun08  
King's Landing:**  
+The Sisters Stark, Sansa and Arya, have a heated argument that almost results in their direwolves too joining in. Fortunately, Ned Stark intervenes and breaks up the fight.  
**Autumn's Frontier:  
**+Fred and Daniel begin working on a secret project between just the two of them for the next time they're down in King's Landing. They take extra precautions to make sure neither VENI nor Teller find out, or else they might try to put a stop to it. What is this secret project all about? You'll just have to wait and see...  
**Deepwood Motte, The North:  
**+After 5 days of non-stop cutting and digging and flattening a path through the Wolfswood, the "Badger" finally arrives at the shores of the Sunset Sea. The men of both The Company™ and House Glover feast to celebrate this accomplishment.

**Day 50: Jun09  
Winterfell:  
**+Lord Robb Stark, acting Lord of Winterfell in the absence of his father, commissions The Company™ to assist him in creating "The First Army Of The North". Robb is convinced, after the Lannisters' attempt on his brother's life, that conflict will arise sooner or later. After reading up about Earth's Napoleonic Wars, Robb is inspired to creating perhaps the first professional, national army Westeros has ever seen.  
+Performing research on The Company™'s behalf, VENI scans over 80,000 pages of printed material found in the Winterfell library for the purposes of uploading this data to The Company™'s database. Some of these books contain potentially valuable information on the planet's history, climatological cycles, as well as magic and any potentially hostile native fauna.  
+VENI also performs a forensic investigation of the scene of Bran's injury and finds several hairs and secretions belonging to several different individuals. She will need to collect a sample of Queen Cersei Lannister's DNA to confirm if any of the specimens found in Winterfell belong to her.

**Day 51: Jun10**  
**Winterfell:  
**+Lord Robb Stark and Maester Luwin, on advice from Company™ advisors, begin working on devising a program of reform and "modernization" of The North. Their plan will focus on the following primary themes:  
**_(1) Creation of a professional, permanent standing army_** instead of reliance on feudal levies;  
**_(2) Improvement of infrastructure and communications_**, mainly roads and river transportation, as well as equipping major castles and towns with at least one solar-powered radio;  
**_(3) Implementation of "modern" farming practices_**, such as enclosures, crop rotation, improved ploughs and seed drills, and chemical fertilizers, as well as improved granary and storage facilities to ensure adequate provisions during the winter;  
**_(4) Introduction of some basic industry_** first, such as textile mills, steel foundries, and coal mines; (textiles because those were the first industries fully developed by Britain; steel for military purposes and also to trade with the South and Essos, as the North possesses vast deposits of iron ore; and coal in order to provide energy to both the textile and steel industries).  
**_(5) Establishment of a central academy_** where Northern lords and ladies can send their children to receive formal education;  
**_(6) The North's first population census_** will be carried out, as well as _**reform of the tax system**_ so as to allow Winterfell to exact taxes more efficiently from its subjects;  
**_(7) Establishment of a single development zone_** wherein all of these major projects will be concentrated: the "White Knife Belt", the area extending roughly from Autumn's Frontier, along the road to Winterfell, and down the White Knife River to White Harbor (and thus, access to sea trade with the South, and also with Essos).  
**_(8) Fostering of a "Northern identity"_** – Robb is intrigued by reading about "Nationalism" in his books, and the way it can be utilized. The North is already considered culturally distinct from the rest of Westeros, due to their predominantly First Men ethnicity and veneration of the Old Gods (as opposed to the Andal and Rhoynish ancestry and Faith Of The Seven predominant in the rest of the Realm).  
+Of course, these themes are all general long-term goals over the next decade. It will take much longer for Lord Robb and Maester Luwin to work out the minute details of this plan. But Robb decides that (1) should take priority, as given recent events, they may not have much time.

**Day 52: Jun11  
Autumn's Frontier:**  
+Valkyrie01 arrives on a routine supply run, unloads, and then departs back to the _Horizonte_ with a cargo of refined minerals, as well as a small collection of swords, armor, and other items purchased from Winterfell, to be sold back on Earth to private collectors at outrageous prices.  
+Steve Lynn departs back to the EE-L5 colony of "Beautiful Horizon" after completing his inspection of the colony of Autumn's Frontier. He gives Fred and Daniel his stamp of approval.

**Day 54: Jun13  
Autumn's Frontier:**  
+Fred, Daniel, and VENI begin planning out which lords of Westeros they should meet next. They've already met the King and one of his brothers; VENI suggests that on their next diplomatic mission south, they should try to meet the King's _other_ brother…  
**King's Landing:  
**+Arya Stark is introduced to her new "dancing instructor", a former Braavosi First Sword by the name of Syrio Forel.

**Day 56: Jun15  
Castle Black:**  
+Benjen Stark departs Castle Black for a ranging north of the Wall to try and find out what has happened to Ser Waymar Royce.

**Day 57: Jun16  
Winterfell:**  
+Lord Robb Stark dispatches ravens to several of the top lords of the North – including Lord Roose Bolton, Lord Wyman Manderly, Lord Rickard Karstark, Lord Jon Umber, Lord Galbart Glover, Lord Helman Talhart, Lord Howland Reed, and Lady Maege Mormont. Each is instructed to begin raising levies to send to Winterfell and form the core of the North's first national standing army, the First Army Of The North!

**Day 59: Jun18  
Autumn's Frontier:**  
+A prototype for the "Napoleon howitzer" (a version of the famous American Civil War-era M1853 field gun that is slightly "modernized" to comport to modern precision manufacturing techniques and available materials) is completed at Autumn's Frontier, and is ready to begin field tests.

**Day 60: Jun19  
Castle Black:**  
+Tyrion Lannister arrives at Castle Black after a 19-day journey across the North, and is hosted by Lord Commander Jeor Mormont.

**Day 61: Jun20  
Autumn's Frontier:**  
+Valkyrie03 arrives, bringing additional supplies, equipment, and 20 more staff. Among the passengers is Sarah Jane Ridley, head of the expedition's legal dept., and her crack team of attorneys (yes, The Company™ brought a squad of lawyers on this expedition. Always good to have your legal bases covered, after all). Ridley was sent by Lynn and Teller to help give legal counselling to Fred and Daniel – namely, how to identify and exploit loopholes in UNASEC regulations and ensure they can get away with as much as possible.

**Day 65: Jun24  
Winterfell:**  
+Lady Catelyn Stark receives a raven from her sister, Lady Lysa Arryn (nee Tully) Of The Eyrie, who claims to have additional incriminating evidence implicating the Lannisters, particularly Tyrion, in the recent death of her lord husband, Lord Jon Arryn.

**Day 66: Jun25  
Winterfell:**  
+A shipment of 200 brand new Martini-Henry Rifles arrives, along with ammo crates packed with 10,000 rounds of 7.62mm ammunition (more will be on their way once the expansion of the fabrication lab is completed). As a token of friendship, Fred and Daniel send Robb a Colt M1911 "with compliments of the Most Noble and Esteemed Company".  
+Fred, ever the "honest businessman", gives Lord Robb a demonstration of the Napoleon Gun.

**Day 69: Jun28  
Winterfell:  
**+About a thousand or so Talhart bannermen arrive from Torrhen's Square; together with the Winterfell men, these will be the first troops of the new "First Army Of The North".

**Day 70: Jun29  
Castle Black:  
**+Content with having spent 10 days visiting the Wall, Tyrion Lannister sets off on his return journey south.

**Day 85: Jul14  
**+This is Tyrion Lannister's expected date-of-arrival at Winterfell on his way south, travel conditions permitting. This also corresponds very roughly with the date of Dec 25, 2154 C.E. on the Earth calendar...


	35. Tyrion 2

_**Notes:**__ This update was originally posted on the original story thread on Christmas Day - so think of it as our "Christmas Special"._

* * *

**Tyrion (II)****  
**  
The shameful rut of mud and filth and horseshit that passed for the Kingsroad in these parts stretched on for mile and miles. But according to Yoren, they were now less than a day's ride from Winterfell. _And not a bloody day too soon, thank the Seven_, thought the Halfman to himself.

Tyrion could feel the itch again – the kind of itch in the loins that a man could get from not having been able to, ahem, _properly relieve_ himself for over a month. And by "properly relieve", what Tyrion meant of course was to traipse off to the local "house of the rising sun". Given that his hosts and travel companions for these last few weeks were all strictly bound by a vow of lifetime celibacy (well, give or take a few liberal interpretations), Tyrion had felt compelled not to indulge in his usual mannerisms, as that would have been just plain rude and in poor taste. Tyrion Lannister was many things to many people, but ungrateful and disrespectful to a gracious host was not one of them – sorry, but on that front, Cersei and Joffrey were already pulling the weight for the entire family.

But they would be at Winterfell soon enough, and Tyrion decided that he wouldn't mind enjoying the Starks' hospitality for a couple days before recuperating his strength for the next leg of the journey south. Perhaps a bathe in the hot springs, a session with one of those delectable Northgirls, and, of course, the chance to marvel at one of those newest toys Lord Stark had purchased from the foreigners. Now, the Wall may have been impressive, but it was at least something conceivable within Tyrion's worldview – after all, every castle had walls, right? But some of the things these foreigners brought were something completely different and out-of-context to anything he had ever seen or imagined, and he had to wonder sometimes which he would remember better years from now: the Wall, or the Sky-People?

And yes, even in a land as vast and sparse as the North, news of the foreigners could travel like wildfire, as Commander Mormont certainly seemed to know of them, and had pestered Tyrion to no end with questions of just who exactly were these people, and what were they like.

They had made good progress over the last two weeks since departing Castle Black. Granted, it was a smaller party, and all on horseback: aside from the Halfman himself, there were also his two household retainers Jyck and Morrec, Yoren, and four of Yoren's black brothers. But it was a good company too… or at least preferable by far to that horrid sister of his, and that little monster of a boy who passed for his nephew. Tyrion had to wonder sometimes what would happen if and when he finally sat upon the Iron Throne...

"M'lord," called Yoren from the front of the party, "dust in the distance; riders approaching, m'lord."

"Ah-ha!" smiled Tyrion, "Winterfell must have gotten advance word of my arrival then. Good. I hope they'll have a room and spot of tea ready for me when I arrive."

"That don't appear to be the case, m'lord," said Yoren, starkly.

"I beg your pardon?" said the Halfman.

"Look," replied Yoren, pointing ahead.

As the dust cloud grew ever closer and closer, Tyrion could see that it was not quite what he was expecting – no, it wasn't a party on horseback at all… it was that horseless carriage of the foreigners, the "Wild Cat"! Oh, Tyrion had such fond memories of that machine… NOT. The vehicle was now no more than a few hundred feet away, and he could make out that there were two figures seated within it – one he recognized as the squire to Lord Kovacs. The other was a new face Tyrion had never seen before, and easily the tallest woman he had ever seen. The horseless carriage came screeching to a halt about fifty feet from the party.

"Greetings," said Tyrion as he watched the two figures dismount from their transport. "Ser Daniel of House Zimmerman, what an unexpected surprise to see you. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He turned to face Ser Daniel's accompaniment. "And who, may I ask, are you?"

"Greetings, Mr. Lannister," replied Ser Daniel, "this is Lady Vaenya, a courtesan to the House of Teller."

"Greetings, Mr. T. Lannister Jr.," said the Lady, "Assistant Director Zimmerman and I were instructed by Director Kovacs to receive you while you were en route to Winterfell."

"Oh?" said Tyrion, "how so?"

Daniel continued: "we heard that you were in the area. So on behalf of the 'Most Noble and Esteemed Company', we'd like extend an invitation to you to come once again and visit our premises. We believe we have a few things that might interest you. That, and we're also holding a small feast tonight to celebrate a little tradition from where we come from. We'd be honored if you would join us."

"I thank you greatly for your gracious offer, Ser Daniel," replied the Halfman. He stole a quick glance at Yoren… "but I'm afraid that my dear travel companion here is on a busy schedule to reach the capital."

"Oh, don't worry about that, Mr. Lannister," said Ser Daniel. "Mr. Kovacs will be returning to King's Landing in a few days time, and has offered you a seat aboard the Falcon – well, if you have the stomach for it, that is."

Tyrion could well remember his first encounter with the Wild Cat, and from what he had heard, these Falcon-ships were far worse – hurtling through the skies like a bolt of lightning, hundreds of times faster than any raven could fly. Whatever sickness he had derived from his experiences with the Cat would undoubtedly be magnified a dozen over. But, that said, the Halfman had to admit that he was also curious to try out this Falcon-ship for himself. If his darling sister could handle it, why not him too? And to be entirely honest, if an hour or two of sickness could save him two months on the Kingsroad… sure, why not!

"Ser Yoren," said Tyrion, turning to face the grizzled black brother, "it is been the utmost pleasure to have had your companionship for these last two weeks… but I'm afraid that something has come up. Here, please keep my good mount as a parting gift – we Lannisters always pay our debts after all. Oh, and please give my warmest regards to the Stark Household, especially to Lady Catelyn. I do wish her son a speedy recovery."

"Very well, m'lord," replied Yoren, "t'was an honor having you."

"As to you two," said Tryion, turning to face Jyck and Morrec. He handed them a small pouch… "here, this should be enough gold to last you back to the Rock. And a little extra. Have a couple rounds of ale on me, you've earned it."

"Thank you, m'lord," said Jyck.

Ser Daniel spoke up: "Mr. Yoren. You and your men are also invited to join us for the feast if you're interested. I would offer you a ride to the capital on our Falcon too, if we could spare the extra seats."

"I thank you kindly, Ser Daniel", replied Yoren, "but do not worry for us. We are sworn brothers of the Night's Watch. The Kingsroad is a pleasant summer afternoon in the Godswood next to the things we find beyond the Wall."

"As you wish," said Daniel.

It took Tyrion quite a bit of effort to climb up and into the backseat of the Cat, but at last he made it. He then turned to face his hosts who were seated in front: "so, may I ask what exactly is this occasion you are commemorating?"

"To answer your inquiry, Director T. Lannister Jr.," began the woman, "today is December 25 in Earth's Gregorian Calendar, which marks the date traditionally believed to mark the birth of the organic historical figure referred to as 'Jesus Christ' (although this is in fact a Latinization of the Hebrew name _Yeshua_, and the Greek title _Khristos_, meaning 'Messiah'). Prophet J. Christ is believed by his followers to have been the 'Son of God', and would go on to found Christianity, which continues to be the single largest religious denomination throughout Earth And The Colonies, although religious fervor across all major religions of organics have generally declined over the past few centuries."

"Um?" began Tyrion, "Uh... okay." He turned to face Ser Daniel... "What a... interesting assistant you have. She seems quite... knowledgeable, and very thorough."

"Oh, you don't know half of it!" smiled Daniel. "But to be entirely honest, more people nowadays care about the commercial and consumer aspects of Christmas than the religious aspects. And many of us aren't even Christians… or are Christians, but totally aren't serious about it at all. Anyway, point is, regardless of its meaning or significance, we all need an excuse sometimes to celebrate, you know, to get together and get totally wasted."

"Getting wasted?" said Tyrion, "I'm beginning to like the sound of this 'Christmas' already." With that, he sat back in the seat and settled in for the drive to Autumn's Frontier. Yes, this ride would be a lot more smooth and comfortable than his first encounter with the Cat…

As the horseless carriage sped off on its way along the new road to the foreigners' encampment, Tyrion turned around to catch a final glimpse of Yoren. He could also just barely make out in the distance the appearance of several riders, bearing the banner of the Starks. _Ah, so Winterfell had sent a welcoming committee after all!_ Thought Tyrion. _Well, next time_...


	36. Robb 2

**Robb (II)  
**  
Lord Robb Stark, acting Lord Of Winterfell and Warden Of The North in the absence of his father, Lord Eddard Stark... was not a particularly happy young man this holiday season.

"You did _what?!_" barked The Young Wolf. He was trying his best to maintain his calm and collected composure, but the anger in his voice was palpable. Even Grey Wind, curled up at his master's feet, had become slightly agitated, which was never a good thing whenever a direwolf was concerned.

"I knew you would be opposed to it, but I felt I had little choice," explained Catelyn, calmly yet defiantly, "so I ordered Ser Rodrick to seize the Imp and bring him here for questioning."

"On what grounds?" snapped Robb. "I am very disappointed in you, mother. Do you realize that you risked inciting the Lannisters to war? Do you not realize the danger that Father and Sansa and Arya are in down in the capital, what with the Queen and that foul Kingslayer and that Hound of theirs? What about Jory and Vayon and Little Jeyne too? And what about my lord uncle and grandfather down in Riverrun? I scarcely believe anyone will be spared once the Lions' wrath is incurred."

"Robb, you must understand," she replied, "that contemptible little Imp tried to have your brother _killed!_ And when he learns of his Catspaw's failure, perhaps he shall conspire to try again! Who knows what nefarious little lies he must be spinning to Lord Kovacs as we speak."

"And on what factual basis do you make these assertions, may I ask?" shot Robb.

"Why, on the sworn word of my lady sister, Lysa Arryn Of The Vale!" replied Cat, "and of Lord Petyr Baelish, Master Of Coin to the Crown. That man has always been as close a brother to me as Lord Edmure. Together, the two of them have irrefutable evidence that the little monster and his siblings conspired to kill your brother. I am certain it is they who pushed him from the window, and when the Sky-People offered to cure your brother with their sorcery, they sent a sellsword to finish him off! They already killed your very own lord uncle, Jon Arryn of the Vale!"

"That may or may not be the case," said Robb (finding that petting Grey Wind's head had a remarkably calming effect on his own demeanor, as petting a dog usually does), "but either way, that doesn't exclude us from our duties. Lord Tyrion, guilty or not, is our guest for as long as he stands upon Northern soil. Father specifically commanded me as such in his last raven to ensure no harm came to him."

"Technically, he would not have been our guest until he actually entered the gates of Winterfell," added Maester Luwin, who had been seated by Robb's side but remained mostly silent until now. "And even then, simply _entering_ a castle does not automatically make one a guest. He must be _welcomed_, invited. Premises liability and guest rights do not apply to prisoners or trespassers."

"Whatever," said Robb (surprising himself to the extent that he was starting to adopt some of these foreigners' mannerisms and forms of speech). He turned back to face his mother. "I am also displeased that you went behind my back to issue these orders. Need I remind you that when father is not here, _I_ am the Lord of Winterfell?"

"But Robb, when else will such an opportunity ever avail itself to us?" insisted Catelyn. "As long as he stands upon the soil of the North, it our legal right to apprehend and put to trial those who commit trespasses against us. If I were you, I would march right up to the gates of Autumn's Frontier, and demand that he be handed over to the cause of justice!"

"I will do no such thing, not at this time," declared Robb, "not unless I can see this irrefutable evidence of Aunt Lysa's with mine own eyes. And I will ensure the bannermen understand that they are not to take orders from you lest it bears my seal of approval."

"That Imp is a consummate liar and a fiend, like the rest of that arrogant pride of lions he calls a family," said Cat. She held up her hands for all to see. "These scars I now bear upon me are all the evidence I need to know that the Lions tried to have my Brandon killed!"

"Yes, but they didn't succeed, did they?" said Robb, nonchalantly, "and thanks to _Jon Snow_, no less."

The fact that his lady mother said nothing in response to this, but merely glared on in silence, struck The Young Wolf as rather bizarre at first. Usually, she always had some objection to raise to the very mention of Jon's name. As of late, though, she had taken a slightly milder approach to the bastard. There was no doubt in Robb's mind that his half-brother's heroics had really starved Lady Catelyn of any negative things to say about him; and if she couldn't think of anything positive to say about Jon, she would simply say nothing at all.

After a moment of awkward silence, Robb read this as a sign to change the topic. He rose from his desk and strode over to the great glass window overlooking the fields outside Winterfell. Grey Wind too got up and followed his master closely. The young Lord Of Winterfell stood there in silence for a moment, gazing out of the window, taking in the great scene unfolding below him.

A couple thousand men were gathered in the fields outside of the castle – there were the Starks' own men-at-arms, camped under the white-and-grey Direwolf banner. Next to them were encamped the Talhart men under the sigil of the three sentinel pines vert, and next to them, the Glovers of Deepwood Motte under the gauntlet argent. Further afield was the encampment of roughly 500 White Harbor men, flying the white-and-green merman of House Manderly.

And at the furthest end of the field, demarcated by the pink flags they flew and the pink tents in which they housed themselves, were the latest batch of troops to arrive – these were the men of the Dreadfort, and the Dreadlord of Bolton himself had purposefully availed himself to come to Winterfell and help oversee the creation of the First Army Of The North. It seems that Lord Roose had a personal interest in seeing the fire-arms in action, up close for himself.

Right now, the men were undergoing basic drills. So far, only a few hundred of the much vaunted fire-arms had arrived, as well a couple of those incredible 'Napoleon guns' (Robb was surprised to learn that they were not actually named after the man he had adopted as one of his role models, but rather after his nephew, Napoleon Third Of His Name). Ammunition was in short supply, though Lord Kovacs had promised that daily deliveries would pick up once they had completed the expansion of their manufactorum. Robb quietly dreamed of the day the North would operate manufactora of its own – great mills forging steel, rows upon rows of blacksmiths working away to craft not only new fire-arms, but also things that would serve in peacetime rather than war – ploughs, drills, even simple nails… the possibilities were endless.

For the time being, until more fire-arms could arrive, the men instead contented themselves with practicing drill and formation, using wooden sticks in place of the eventual fire-arms and pikes (in the end, gunmen would actually make up only a tiny portion of the army – most of the forces would remain as dedicated pikemen and halberdiers). A complex system of signal flags, banners, drums, and trumpets were used to coordinate this titanic operation, but the Young Wolf was hopeful that when the time finally came, the handful of selected knights and minor lordlings would grow accustomed to their designated roles as field officers.

"War with the Lions may now be inevitable," spoke The Young Wolf, breaking the silence at last, "but I have no intention of firing the first shot – at least not until the First Army Of The North is ready for action. As it currently stands, they are not. Why, the Karstark, Umber, and Mormont forces haven't even arrived yet. And you, mother, nearly put us _all_ in a _very_ difficult position. But let us not dwell on what could have been. We shall not speak of this incident ever again to anyone… not even to Father, or Sansa or Arya or Rickon, or to Brandon when he returns. And especially not to Lady Aunt Lysa."

"Oh, Robb," said Catelyn, stepping forward to embrace her firstborn son. "I only wanted to do what was best for our family. The night that horrible man came for Bran, I... I felt so helpless, so afraid. I was so sure that... that..." She was having trouble finishing her sentence, so she cut to the chase. "I never want those Lions to ever hurt us ever again, not while I still stand among the living."

"I... understand," replied the Young Wolf, finally softening up a bit. "And it was a very brave thing you did, mother. I... I'm sorry... if I ever gave you reason to be upset." He returned his mother's embrace. Without waiting for his master's orders, Grey Wind too joined in, striding up to Lady Stark and licking her hands.

Robb then turned back to face the window, deep in contemplation. "The world has already changed so much and so quickly, it is terrifying to think about it. Sometimes I wonder if I am still the same person I was just three months ago. But let us be thankful to the Old Gods and the New that we avoided a major disaster for now – fortune may not smile so kindly upon us next time."


	37. Daniel 3

**Steel Foundry, Main Compound  
Colony of Autumn's Frontier, Northern Sector  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4**

Sparks were flying everywhere as a stream of molten iron ore came pouring out of one of the electric arc furnaces, and into a waiting vat. Although much of the process was completely automated, there were still a few dozen workers milling about the main floor of the warehouse that housed the colony's steelworks. They were an interesting mix: mainly locally hired laborers, but overseen by a handful of engineers and managers from Earth. Over the last few weeks, the locals had slowly grown accustomed and used to their assigned tasks, though they never ceased to treat the "Sky-People" and their machinery with some sense of awe and wonder.

It was a miracle The Company™ had avoided any major workplace incidents so far… well, at least aside from a few injuries, and two workers killed in a drunken brawl, though that was off-duty. Granted, a large part of this had to do with the fact that the most dangerous jobs were performed by machines, and also due to stern safety measures The Company™ had in place (before they had learned of the existence of "exo-humans" within in the star system, The Company™ had designed these prefabricated steel mills around the assumption that it would be difficult to send replacement workers from Earth).

To the locals, the interior of the steelworks must have resembled nothing less than a monstrously oversized version of their friendly neighborhood village blacksmith's shop… or perhaps even remotely akin to their religion's version of Hell. Though the promise of a Silver Stag a day (well, after all deductions for accommodation and hygiene and what not) was enough to motivate most of these local yokels to brave the heat and show their mettle in making metal.

Observing all of this from the building's second floor control room, from behind the safety and comfort of the thick and thermally insulated glass windows, were the colony's main management team. They were here today giving a tour to their latest visitor.

"My goodness," remarked Tyrion, taking in the great visage that greeted his eyes, "your operation has grown considerably since the last time I was here." He wasn't lying: last time he had visited with King Robert's party, the steelworks were still housed in the same small warehouse as the Fab Lab. Now, they occupied an entire building to itself – a building that could have rivaled the central keep at Winterfell for size. The colony's ability to have been able to raise a structure of this enormity so quickly was owed in equal parts to the assistance of HULK units, to modern modular construction techniques and prefabricated parts, and finally, to the grit and determination of their small but efficient workforce.

"Sure has," smiled Daniel, agreeing with the Little Lord's assessment, "right now, we're in the middle of the second phase of expansion of our steelworks and fabrication lab. If you thought this place was impressive when you last visited here with the King, trust me, you ain't seen nothing yet! Of course, these facilities are only _secondary_ to our quarry and mineral refinery."

"I take it that many of your finished products are bound for Winterfell?" inquired Tyrion.

"We're only responding to local demand," said Fred, "the Starks just so happen to be our biggest customer at the moment. But like any good merchant, we'll go wherever the market calls for us."

At Fred's behest, the group then exited the steelworks through the backdoor of the control room. From here, a steel catwalk connected to the colony's new observation tower. At 100-feet tall and constructed from steel girders, the tower overlooked the entire compound, as well as the adjacent quarry and landing zones. Once completed, the colony's main command center and communications hub would be relocated here, as would a set of searchlights, and sentry guns that could reach anywhere on the compound. For the time being, the tower currently housed a covered observation platform with a table and some chairs (including some deck-chairs for off-duty personnel to lounge around in), and the elevator shaft reaching there (a small blessing for the group, sparing them the trek up ten flights of stairs).

A distant crash like thunder met the ears of the party as they exited the elevator at the top. In the distance, one could make out the clouds of dust thrown up by the blasting going on at the quarry. Once the "all clear" was given, hundreds of workers descended into the pit to attack the earth with all manner of tools and machines – both local Westerosi, as well as Terrans too, and a trio of HULK Units equipped with jackhammers and plasma rock-cutters. Meanwhile, in the foreground, a bucket loader could be seen emptying more of the ore-rich rock in the waiting bed of a Kodiak truck, to be driven up the ramp and over the short distance to the colony's mineral refinery.

Tyrion had seen it all before, but nonetheless never ceased to be amazed by the sight. "So tell me again," he said, "how many people does your 'little operation' here employ?"

"Director Lannister Jr., to answer your inquiry," began VENI, "the Colony of Autumn's Frontier currently houses 525 personnel, including 152 UN and Company™ staff from Earth, and 373 locally-enlisted laborers. When Director Kovacs referred to our project as a 'little operation' earlier, what he meant is that it is relatively small compared to similar mining projects throughout Earth and the Colonies. For example, the largest known mining operation is the Olympus Mons Quarry on Mars, which is known to employ over two million worker units, though bear in mind that this figure includes synthetics, as well as non-mining support staff, such as cooks and medical personnel."

"Uh… fascinating," replied Tyrion, trying to wrap his head around those numbers. "So please tell me more about these ores you seek – this 'silver-gold'? Is that what it is?"

"Correction, Director Lannister Jr.," she continued, "the term 'silver-gold' is an antiquated term used to describe the element platinum (symbol: Pt), along with the words 'white gold' and 'little silver' (_platina_ in Spanish, from which the word 'platinum' is derived). Indeed, until the 19th century C.E., the alchemical symbol used to denote platinum was a combination of the two separate symbols for silver (Ag) and gold (Au). This can lead to several misconceptions, however. While platinum, like silver or gold, is a transition metal, it is part of a completely separate group on the periodic table. That said, the exact purpose of our mining operations here do not center on platinum itself, but on its 'sister metals', such as iridium (Ir), palladium (Pd), rhodium (Rh), ruthenium (Ru), osmium (Os), and eridanium (Ed) which are considered part of the 'platinum group' of the periodic table."

Even a smart local like Tyrion was completely befuddled by all of these details. "Right... so this "iridium" and this "palladium" and "platinum" – are all worth far more than gold and silver?"

"At least on Earth they are," said Fred, "but I don't remember what exactly is the market value these days, so don't quote me on it."

"To answer your inquiry, the exact market value of…" began VENI.

"Okay, that's enough VENI, thank you," said Fred, cutting her off.

"And the North is sitting on the largest reserves of these minerals in the world?" inquired Tyrion.

"More or less," said Daniel. "There are actually plentiful deposits in other areas around the globe, but we chose to settle here because of the relative high abundance of all the minerals we need within this one area, combined with the relatively sparse population. Hell, it was pure chance that Ned ran into us at all, given how empty this place is."

"By the Seven," remarked Tyrion, "and here I was raised to believe my native Westerlands was and would always be the richest of the Seven Kingdoms…"

"Actually, you wouldn't be too far off the mark," replied Daniel. "Our satellite scans have shown us that the Westerlands do possess considerable reserves of platinum-group metal ores, as well as many other high-value minerals. It's just that most of these are all buried way, way down – far deeper than any of your current mining techniques are capable of reaching, unless you have some kind of sorcery we haven't yet heard of."

"Pretty much the only way to reach any of those deposits would of course require, eh, _more advanced_ extraction techniques," added Fred, "that, and I daresay your climate is a lot more pleasant too."

"Something tells me that your 'Most Noble And Esteemed Company' retrieved me from the Kingsroad for motives other than a simple invitation to a 'Christmas' party…" muttered Tyrion.

"Maybe," said Fred, "you see, for our next phase of expansion, we're looking for somewhere a little… how shall we say it? Warmer and more inviting to the tourists and colonists. And, if we're being honest here, you are legally the _heir_ to the Lordship of Casterly Rock, if my sources are correct."

The Halfdude laughed. "You are a consummate gentleman, Lord Kovacs," he said, "I only wish my own lord father shared in those sentiments."

"Oh don't you worry about that!" replied Fred with his trademark smile of an ever-honest salesman, "I believe we may have quite a few things your lord father would be greatly interested in. Here, may I offer you another drink, Lord Tyrion? What will you take, coffee or tea, or perhaps a beer or a wine?"

At his command, one of the locally hired serving girls emerged from the elevator, carrying a tray of various drinks and snack-items. "Thank you, Ros," said Fred, cracking a cold brew and taking a swig. "Ah, that hits the spot! Say, did I mention we have a brewery open now too? We recycle the bottles of course. I should show you that next."

Tyrion was interested in the brewery too, but his main focus was still on the quarry: "and I suppose Winterfell is, of course, being adequately remunerated for the value of all of this 'silver-gold' you're pulling out of their land?"

"We have an arrangement of sorts," replied Daniel, "we give the Starks compensation in the form of manufactured goods and medicines and chemicals and various other kinds of 'developmental aid'…"

"If you'd have passed by Winterfell, I'm sure you'd have seen some of our 'developmental aid' in action!" laughed Fred, "we also throw a little gold directly at their coffers, and a little more at their 'sovereign wealth fund'."

"Sovereign wealth fund?" inquired Tyrion.

"Yeah, just a little something we helped Winterfell set up," explained Fred, "keeps the UN and the pressure groups back home from nagging us too much about 'exploiting the locals' and such."

"Interesting," remarked Tyrion. "I'm intrigued to hear about this 'UN' you speak so much of, and of this realm you come from. Please, tell me more."

* * *

**Central Headquarters, Main Compound  
Colony of Autumn's Frontier, Northern Sector  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4**

Later that night, after their visitor had been shown off back to his room in the guesthouse, the team gathered back in Fred's office.

"So…" began Daniel, "…what do you guys make of our guest?"

"Oh, he's actually pretty cool," said Fred, "when I'm king, I'm totally putting this guy on my council!"

"Uh… okay," began Daniel, not sure if Fred was joking as usual or not. "So you're pretty sure he's not in on this 'Lannister Conspiracy'? How about you, VENI? What's your assessment?"

"Director Kovacs and Assistant Director Zimmerman, I have been closely monitoring Subject T. Lannister Jr. for the entire duration of today's tour," began VENI. "In particular, I have been observing his reactions whenever the subject of Patient B. Stark was raised in conversation. I did not detect any hint in his voice, mannerisms, eye movements, heart rate, or adrenaline levels that would indicate that he had conspired in the attempted assassination. Granted, it is possible, though unlikely, that our guest is simply more highly skilled in the art of deception than either Directors Varys or Baelish.

"Furthermore," she continued, "while you were busy entertaining our guest, I took the liberty of taking biometrics off of the eating utensils that he employed last night during the colony's Christmas dinner. I have analyzed and compared these fingerprints with those taken off of the attempted murder weapon, and could find no correlation whatsoever. While this does not entirely absolve him of any role in the plot, this does diminish the chances of his direct involvement considerably.

"Based on these observations and on the best information currently available, I have thus concluded that there is an 89% probability that Subject Lannister Jr. was not in any way, shape, or form involved in the assassination attempt that transpired on these premises. This would raise additional questions, however, as to the motives behind Director Baelish's accusations towards Subject Lannister Jr."

"Right," replied Daniel, "but just to make sure, you're saying there is still a small chance that Tyrion _could_ have still been involved?"

"That is correct, Assistant Director Zimmerman. As I have stated before, we synthetics require almost 100% certainty in our assertions before taking action. 89% is nowhere near this requirement."

"I dunno, 89 sounds pretty darn close to 100 to me," said Daniel, "that's almost a nine-out-of-ten chance."

"Perhaps to you organics, it is," replied VENI, "but to us synthetics, 89% is nowhere near 100%, as there is an infinite number of decimals that could fit within those 11 percentage points."

"Oh great, grade school math again," remarked Fred. "Y'know, you synthetics don't have to be like that if you don't choose to be. I mean, yeah, I'll admit that we humans make a lot more mistakes than you guys… but we still turn out okay, right? Can't you machines just make a decision on a whim for once?"

"I thank you for your impartation of organic wisdom, Director Kovacs," replied VENI, "but it is against my secure protocols to act against this requirement. Therefore, as I am unable to reach consensus on this matter, I will elect to delegate the decision-making responsibility to you, Director Kovacs. As an organic, you are not bound by the same certainty requirement."

"But even if Tyrion was behind the assassination attempt," cut in Daniel, "what could we do about it anyway? Detain him for questioning?"

"Possibly, Assistant Director Zimmerman," said VENI. "UNASEC Code Article 7 Subsection 4(d) includes a list of very specific circumstances for which we would have the legal right to employ force against the locals. If it can be definitively and irrefutably shown that Subject T. Lannister Jr. is indeed guilty of having orchestrated the attack on Patient B. Stark, then he would liable, as _respondeat superior_, for the assailant's unlawful trespass onto our premises, as well as any property damage or personal injury he may have inflicted, whether intentionally, or collaterally. However, as I have iterated earlier, we are currently lacking in the needed evidence."

"Alright," said Fred, "if that's the case, and we don't have any definitive proof, then I'm inclined to believe that our new friend here is innocent. I mean, c'mon! He's the only one of that family who seems a decent human being. And from what I've gathered about the way he talks about his dad and his sister, I reckon he must be some sort of 'black sheep of the family' to them. I don't know Mr. Finger's reasons in trying to frame Tyrion, but that guy's already proven himself to have rather questionable motives, in my humble opinion.

"But here's the most important thing," he continued, "innocent or not, Tyrion's at least been rather forthcoming in doing business with us. His family controls some of the richest lands on this continent in terms of mineral wealth, and of course prime real estate. Now, the _UNSV Joseph Conrad_ is set to depart Earth any day now, and I, for one, intend to get a foothold in the Westerlands by the time the colonists get here 6 months from now… in one-way or another. Yeah, the Reach or Dorne might have some good stuff to offer too, but I think the Westerlands definitely gives us the most bang for our buck, investment-wise."

"Acknowledged," said VENI, "I will stand by your decision, Director Kovacs."

"Okay, so it's decided then?" asked Daniel.

"Yep," said Fred, "looks like we're all headed back to KL then. Besides, we have a mission to accomplish. We get this done right, I think we may have one more useful bargaining chip on the table when it comes time for the trade negotiations."


	38. Intermission 1: New Year's Eve

_**Foreword:**__ This chapter was posted to the original story website on New Year's Eve - hence, it's our "New Year's Special" for all intents and purposes. __In this chapter, we get our first look at Earth of the 22nd century. A__ny relation to real life persons or events is completely coincidental... or at least meant to be taken lightly and in good jest._

* * *

**Fuchsnetzwerk Holovision Studios  
Mitte District, City of Berlin  
Federal Republic of Germany  
Planet Earth, Sol System**

"Guten abend, Erde und die Kolonien!" began the smartly-dressed man in a suit seated at the desk, "Wilkommen to _Fuchs Nachrichten Holo-Netzwerk_, broadcasting across the galaxy in over 20 different languages, including 2 non-human ones! I am Schaefer Schmidt, your host for the evening."

"And I am your co-host, Gretchen Von Limburg," added in the well-dressed and professional-looking woman seated next to him. "Together, we welcome you to FNHN's annual New Year's Eve Special. The time is now 20.00, 31 December here in Berlin; 14.00 in New York; 04.00, 01 January in Tokyo; 01.00 on Atlas Station; 18.00 in Armstrong City, Luna; and 02.00 in New Olympia, Mars."

"Indeed," continued Herr Schmidt, "before we begin with our main program for the evening, we'd like to share with you some of the latest feeds shot by our very own foreign correspondents, of the New Years celebrations held over the last few hours in Tokyo, Shanghai, Singapore, Sydney, Atlas Station, and Mars."

The holovision screens in the studio displayed a bright and dazzling display of video-feeds from across Earth and the Colonies as brilliant explosions of color danced in the skies above Earth, Luna, and Mars, ringing in the new year. When the montage was finished, Frau Von Limburg continued: "And now for our main program. Tonight, for our annual New Year's Eve Special, we will be taking a look back at perhaps the single most important event of this last year: the discovery of extraterrestrial human life on four different planets in the Epsilon Eridani System. Announcement of the 'Great Discovery' caused a major stir around der Welt. Chancellor Klinsmann called it: '_far more significant to our understanding of the universe than the invention of the Trans-Light Drive_'. U.S. President Marianne Young-Taft called it: '_the defining moment of the Millennium_'. And Her Holiness Pope Aurelia II declared that the discovery will '_shake the foundations of man's belief and force us to re-examine the teachings of Gott_'."

"However, much controversy continues to surround the ongoing exploration and colonization efforts within the system," continued Herr Schmidt. "Joining us here in the studio today is a very special guest: Herr Domenech Belleville, Director of the Space Exploration and Colonization Division of Das Kompany™. Guten evening Herr Belleville, and thank you for joining us."

"My pleasure, Schaef," replied Mr. D. E. Belleville, who had been seated across the desk from Schmidt and Limburg this whole time, "and you too, Greta. It's good to be back on the show."

Frau Limburg started the interview: "Herr Belleville, we would like to begin by asking you what is the current status of Das Kompany™'s colonization efforts within the Epsilon Eridani System."

"Well, it's pertinent you ask," replied the American, "as you know, our initial mission, organized and funded jointly with the UN, arrived in the System three months ago aboard the _UNSV Belo Horizonte_. We now already have up-and-coming colonies on all three worlds, as well as a number of space assets in progress. Nothing too fancy – just some light industry, as well as trade and developmental aid with the indigenous peoples. Most of our efforts are still into _scientific exploration_ of the system. I can't really reveal much beyond that right now, but we'll definitely have something impressive set up by the time the UN's follow-up mission arrives."

Schmidt took up the next question: "And are you concerned at all that the UN may decide to revoke Das Kompany™'s colonization rights once their follow-up mission arrives?"

"Oh, absolutely not!" chuckled Belleville, "trust me, we've got everything under control right now. We've got the best team on the ground that money can buy! And we've been working very closely with the UN to make sure that our colonies and our interactions with the locals are in-line with UNASEC regulations. You know the usual: respect for indigenous rights, environmental conservation, sustainable development, non-direct interference in native political affairs, and all that jazz."

"I see," observed Frau Limburg, "and could you perhaps tell us more about this _war_ that is currently going on?"

"Oh yeah, about that," he began, "well, you see, the human societies we discovered are a lot less technologically and socially advanced than we are. Most of them are at about Medieval-level or so. As such, they are incredibly violent, prone to familial feuding and whatnot, and with little to no concept of things like 'human rights' or 'the Geneva Convention'. Now, we've been working very closely both with the local governments and with the UN to find a peaceful resolution to local disputes, but that's not always possible.

"For example, take this 'Mordor' we found on Planet EE-L5. According to the locals, they're like the local equivalent of the Timurids or something – mindless barbarians with no regard for human rights that just want to break and smash and steal stuff. And they've been on the warpath for years before we arrived. We have tried to reach out to them, but alas, our diplomatic efforts nearly ended in disaster. These are a people who cannot be reasoned with.

"So, in situations like this, especially where there is a grave threat not only to the lives of our own staff from Earth but also to innocent native civilians, we adopt the role of a peacekeeping force. Nothing major – we just give assistance to those who are being actively threatened by genocide. It's really a lucky coincidence that we arrived when we did to intervene in this conflict. And believe it or not, Mordor's not the _worst_ we've encountered so far, either. I'll spare you the details.

"I, like you, would rather that it doesn't come to it, but if push does come to shove, we may have no choice but to employ the more drastic measures permitted under Article 7 of the UNASEC Code. I just want it to be made crystal clear to all viewers out there that we're not the bad guys here. If anything, we're the good guys! We're trying to _help_ the Epsilon Eridani natives – you know, give them modern medicine, developmental aid, infrastructure, industry, teach them about freedom and democracy and all that crap… shit, sorry, am I allowed to say that on the air? No? Oh, _fuck_…"

Limburg interjected, salvaging the situation: "oh, don't worry, our computer will edit it out in post-production. Please continue."

"Wait, but isn't this a _live interview?" _asked Belleville, slightly confused. "Actually, never mind..."

"Look, we agree with your point of view, Herr Belleville," insisted Schmidt, "but unfortunately, many others do not. After all, who could forget all of those protests that broke out around the world shortly after the announcement of the 'Great Discovery'? Many of these protestors, including of course Fraulein Relena Freiden and her peacenik movement, were upset with your exclusive rights to the system; they think that Das Kompany™ only seeks to exploit the natives and resources of the Epsilon Eridani System, citing the infamous Alpha Centauri Incident from a few years ago."

"Okay, first of all, let's get a few things straight," said Belleville, getting defensive, "the Alpha Centauri incident wasn't even as bad as these protestors make it out to be. They're all just getting themselves worked up for no good reason, if you ask me.

"Besides, these people do not seem to realize that The Company™ has moved on, alright? We've learned from our mistakes. We're not the bad guys the public likes to make us out to be. Hell, our Alpha Centauri colony was back to full operation within a few months of the incident, and we actually managed to reach a peaceful settlement with the natives without getting our license revoked. And in spite of all that, we still turned a _profit_, thus helping create jobs back here on Earth too!

"And the thing is, the public knows this. The latest Gallup polling data shows that the majority of the general public supports us in our endeavors. It's just a tiny but highly vocal minority who directly opposes our efforts. They call us fascists and yet they're the ones rallying in the streets to smash our windows!"

There was a brief pause, before Schmidt continued. "I sympathize with your predicament, Herr Belleville. Yes, this level of 'class warfare' is very unhealthy to the economy and to the integrity of the state. Very inefficient too, ja… why, I remember when I was _three minutes_ late for work once and that was because there was a protest being held outside Das Kompany™'s offices here in Berlin, causing traffic. What an outrage!"

"Yeah! Absolutely!" shot Belleville. "And here's the thing too: I'm willing to bet that some of these protests and so-called 'social justice warriors' aren't even 'grassroots' political movements – probably more like 'astroturf' movements, if you know what I mean. They're probably being bankrolled by a number of anti-Company™ lobbyists and special interests... though I will respectfully decline to give any names as to whom I think are behind it all."

"Perhaps your competitors are jealous at the exclusive mineral, trading, and colonization rights Das Kompany™ holds over the system?" suggested Limburg.

"Yeah, probably," sneered Belleville, "I dunno, but we've been making good faith efforts to try to reach out to both the general public, and to other corporations. So far, we're working with Galaxiewerke AG to develop a new line of bulk transport starships for ferrying goods and passengers between Earth and Epsilon Eridani. Once the UN gives us the okay, we'll begin production. And, of course, as you know, our major partner in the Asia-Pacific Region, Shanghai-based Guanlong Enterprises, will be sending their own mission aboard the _Conrad_ to help us explore and colonize the other worlds of the system. And this year, we also entered into a landmark partnership to sublicense some of our colonization rights to Mumbai-based Masrani Group.

"Point is, we've been very sincere and forthcoming in our attempts to reach out to the public and to other conglomerates. Um, yeah. Quite frankly, I don't understand where people keep getting these vicious rumors that we've been lying to the public, and hoarding the EE System for ourselves – these false allegations have really hurt our reputation! Look, I urge people out there to look at the facts of the matter: The Company™ creates jobs, development, innovation, and higher living standards wherever we go. Yes, we make a profit in the process too, but that is what incentivizes entrepreneurs and visionaries like us to continue making the galaxy a better place to live! I think closing off the Epsilon Eridani System is the biggest mistake the UN could ever make because it would deny the System's natives from their right to development and a better way of life, and it would be denying us here on Earth the right to enjoy whatever fantastic scientific and cultural discoveries there are to be made."

"Spoken like a true visionary!" commented Limburg. "Anyway, moving on with the next question. So, last week, Premier Kim Suk Hwang of the Martian Remnant of the Former DPRK came out with a statement threatening the UN and Das Kompany™ with some form of retaliation if you continue your colonization efforts in the system. He claims that the Epsilon Eridani worlds are actually long-lost North Korean space colonies that rightfully belong to him. What is your official stance on the matter?"

"Oh him?" shot Belleville, "eh, it's nothing really. Seriously. I mean, what's the worst they can do anyway? Hack into The Company™'s secure servers? Ha! I'd like to see them try! I mean, do they even possess the computing power to match our _Victory_-class AIs? They can't even get a probe past Uranus. In the end, 'words are wind', and that sad little rump state on Mars who calls themselves 'Best Korea' hasn't really done anything in the last hundred years, ever since they fled Earth at the end of World War Three, except blowing a lot of wind. Empty threats, that's all it is."

"Agreed!" replied Schmidt, "right then, that's enough politics for me. Now let's talk about all the superficial celebrity and pop culture gossip that our viewers are far more interested in than boring old politics!"

"Ooh, this is always my favorite part of the interview!" remarked Limburg excitedly, "here, I'll take the first question. So, Herr Belleville, do you recognize this picture?" She pulled up on the hologram one of the first and by far the most famous pictures taken of the natives of EE-L4 that had been made public - an image of a noble high-ranking lord of some type, seated on a magnificent chair forged out of swords, brooding, deep in contemplation.

Belleville, of course, recognized it immediately. "Ha! Do I? Of course! Yeah, that's Fred's picture right there."

Limburg turned to face the cameras: "for those among our viewers who have been living under a rock for the past two months, this picture is entitled 'The Hand Of The King', and it was taken by Das Kompany™'s employee, Herr Frederick Kovacs. It depicts one of the natives of Planet EE-L4 who is apparently named 'Eddard Stark' and is some type of high-ranking lord. He's sitting on the 'Iron Throne', which is the throne of the royal family of Planet EE-L4. This was one of the first pictures of the natives of the planet made public, and so predictably, it went viral back in November."

"Oh yeah, there was a lot of buzz around this one!" smiled Belleville. "In fact, this Christmas, we quickly developed and released a line of 'Iron Throne' replicas, so that people could recreate their own 'Hand Of The King' pose, complete with the sword (sold separately; batteries not included)! Those sold out pretty fast too; we sold almost as many units as our 'Emperor Karl Franz On Deathclaw' action-figures."

"Oh ja! I know, I bought both of those too!" remarked Schmidt. "I even paid the extra to get my kids the sword! Look, here's a picture of my little son Siegfried and my daughter Sieglinde in the 'Hand Of The King' pose. Cute, isn't it?" Fumbling about on his holo-tablet, he pulled up a couple of pictures of a blond preteen boy and his teenage sister posing on an obviously plastic but nonetheless still cool-looking life-sized replica of the Iron Throne.

"Aw, that is really cute," said Belleville, "glad to know your kids love it. I got one for my daughters too and they went apeshit over it! Of course, we had an issue when several fan groups around the world tried to produce their own replica of the throne without a proper license from us, so we have several ongoing lawsuits for copyright infringement. We're not suing for much, we just want an injunction, that's all."

"And is it legal to copyright a historical artifact of a foreign culture?" asked Schmidt.

"Uh… no, it is not…" said Belleville, hesitantly "...but, it _is_ legal for The Company™ to copyright pictures taken by Company™ personnel while within the scope of their employment. In this case, because the only known pictures of the Iron Throne in circulation are those taken by Mr. Kovacs, I think it's fair for The Company™ to claim copyright over any and all reproductions of it. Of course, Spacebook too recently lashed out against us, saying that, if anything, _they_ actually should own the rights to the pictures since Mr. Kovacs uploaded them to his Spacebook profile."

"Mein Gott!" exclaimed Frau Limburg, "that sounds like a lot of unnecessary and completely frivolous litigation by everyone over something that will be a non-issue once the UN starts publishing pictures of the throne to the public domain!"

"Yeah, it kinda is," admitted Belleville, "but what else are we gonna do about it? Are we simply gonna let it slide? We have to do something, or else we'll be opening the floodgates and allowing people to get away with similar acts of copyright infringement in the future. At a certain point, you just have to draw the line."

"Fair enough," said Limburg, "so, next question then. The follow up mission to Epsilon Eridani departs in a few days time. Would you care to tell us more about this mission?"

"Oh sure," said Belleville. "Well, it's not much secret – most of the details are up on UNASEC's website. But I'll briefly reiterate the basic facts for our viewers out there. The _UNSV Joseph Conrad_, as you know, is the newest, largest, and most advanced starship in the UN Star Fleet – or at least will be until they launch the _UNSV Tyrannosaurus Rex_ next year. The _Conrad_ was originally built to accommodate a crew of 2,000, but for this particular mission, we had an additional 4,000 cryopods installed, since most of these people will be going ashore when they arrive, so we don't have to worry about accommodating them onboard the ship. For this mission, the _Conrad_ will be carrying personnel from the UN, The Company™, and from our partners Guanlong and Masrani too. At least half the passengers are colonists."

"Colonists?" asked Schmidt and Limburg together.

"Oh yeah, totally," replied Belleville, "we started the bidding process back in mid-November. We got about 86,000 bids in the first hour. Imagine that! The first 3,000 will be going along on the _Conrad_, and the rest are being waitlisted for each subsequent voyage after that – provided of course that the UN doesn't yank our license (if they do, well, we'll just have to fly the colonists back to Earth and give them whatever refund they're entitled to under the waiver we had them all sign). Granted, not all of them are actual colonists – some of them are tourists who're just coming over for the adventure, and will probably return to Earth on the first available return voyage."

"I see," observed Schmidt, "any special guests?"

"Why yes of course," replied Belleville, "aside from the UN diplomats and dignitaries, we've also had number of high-profile celebrities purchase tickets for the voyage of the _Conrad_."

"Like whom, if I may ask?" interjected Limburg.

"Well, for starters, Oprah 3.0 was one of the first high profile individuals bidding for a seat on the ship. In fact, she dished out the extra cash for _ten_ cyropods. Now, as you know, Oprah3 is an A.I. (flash-cloned from the mind of Oprah2, herself cloned from original Oprah Winfrey), so she doesn't need a Cryopod for herself. No, two of those pods are for a couple of her staff, and the remaining eight she gave away to viewers of her show. They did like a raffle or something. They managed to raise about 1.5 billion viewers, and 600 million Credits that way."

"Kool," remarked Von Limburg, "and who else is going?"

"Well, we also have famed actress and supermodel Silk Sarcastian – you know, from _Keeping Up With The Sarcastians,_" added Belleville. "She paid quite a lot to get a seat on the _Conrad_. I guess she wasn't pleased with her failure to 'break the Holonet' this year with those nude photos of her, so now she's going to try to 'break the Holonet' again with a picture of her posing nude on the Iron Throne. Yes, the _actual Iron Throne_, not just one of the replicas we made. If I'm being honest, I don't think the locals will like it. But in any case, she was willing to cough up several million Credits for a cryopod for herself, and four more for her staff and attendants and her hairstylist. You know these prissy airheaded celebrities – they always have to have a small entourage following them everywhere.

"Then there's the documentary film crew commissioned by the UN. They'll be led by two famous Holowood directors: one of them is Max Spielberg VI, director of such mega holo-blockbusters as _Jurassic Universe 7 _and _Schindler's Fist 3_. The other one is A.A. Jaybrahms - yes, him, the guy who directed _Star Wars_ Episodes 34, 35, and 36, and _Fast And Furious 75_. Yeah, Spielberg and Jaybrams will be bringing over practically an entire mobile holo-film production unit, though no actors – any voiceover narration will be recorded here on Earth by a second unit. I think they're trying to get someone famous like Sir Statrick Pewart or Niam Leeson to do the narration."

"Interesting," said Limburg, "now, celebrities aside, we have also heard that the Vatican is sending a special mission as well to Epsilon Eridani. Is this true?"

"Oh yeah, we also have a couple of religious missions onboard as well," replied Belleville. "But yes, first of all, we do have a special delegation from the Holy See. Her Holiness the Pope has a theory that these other worlds may have been created by God as well, so she's sending some top theologians over there to... um... sorry, I don't even know what exactly they're doing there. I never was a very good Catholic, you see, so I don't even know what signs you're supposed to look for. Oh well. But yes, in short, we've got a mission of about ten special agents of the Vatican on the _Conrad_.

"We also have a number of _Robuddhist monks_ from the Monastic Order of Tulku 8734 'Tenzin'. I dunno if you've heard of this religious group, but they're robots who've converted to Buddhism, so they don't need cryopods. They want to visit the system because they said it's good for their _chi_ or their _dharma_ or something – I dunno, I'm no expert on Robuddhism, so I can't say for sure. But they were willing to pay for the cost of their travel, and even throw in a free _puja_ to bless the mission, so I figured why not. Hey, my younger daughter is a Buddhist, by the way - not a Robuddhist, though, because she's not, you know, a robot.

"Apart from that, we have a group of Jewish rabbis, three Muslim imams, a Hindu yogi, two 'New Age Spiritual' shamans, and a couple of Mormons who think the 'Exo-humans of Epsilon Eridani' are descended from Ancient Hebrews or something - yup, they're all coming along for the ride. Ha! I bet they're all in for a wild time when they get there."

"That sounds like a lot of people!" commented Limburg. "I hope the UN is sending adequate security to protect everyone, especially if there's a war going on."

"I wouldn't worry," replied Belleville, "the UNCDF has this all under control. By the way, I'd love to give a shout-out to our brave men and women in uniform on the ground in the system right now, risking their lives every day to save humanity!"

"Our thoughts go out to all brave UN and Company™ personnel," said Schmidt, "we wish all the best to you, the UN, and your colonists when they arrive. Now, onto the next question. As you're no doubt well aware, your discovery touched off a resurgence in interest in Medieval Historical fiction and fantasy works. I'm sure you've heard by now that Holonet Box Office, or 'HBO', has announced plans to adapt acclaimed Mexican writer Jorge R.R. de Martín's _Throne Of Blood_ books into a live action holoseries?"

"Oh yes, I'm very much aware of that," said Belleville, "you see, my two daughters are fans of the _Throne Of Blood_ books – in fact, they were even present at Mars Comic-Con when JRRM made the announcement. They were also excited that they've cast 8-foot Swedish actor Dieter Pinklage as the main hero. I guess some of their enthusiasm has rubbed off on me. I certainly hope that the holovision show will help speed things up on the writing front – I mean, the guy's a great writer, but seriously, how long has he been working on the next book now?"

"Well, I hope so too!" added Schmidt, "I want my little Siegfried and Sieglinde to get into these books – I want them to grow up reading _good_ literature, instead of wasting so much of their time on all this frivolous and stupid 'fanfiction' nonsense."

"So, Herr Belleville," interjected Limburg, "we're reaching the end of our interview. I have one final question: you had earlier mentioned that you are working closely with Galaxiewerke, Guanlong, and Masrani Group. Are you partnering up with any other corporations in your colonization efforts?"

"Oh yes, of course," answered Belleville, "we – both The Company™ and the UN, that is – were approached by a number of different entities who are all interested in possible partnerships. For starters, Hilton, Marriott, and Aman Resorts are all interested in building hotels in the system – you know, typical places with nice golf courses and beaches and even ski resorts, where rich people like me can go vacation and never have to bother with interacting with the locals. I mean, they probably won't even be that nice, just really expensive.

"As you know, our SEAGA Games &amp; Entertainment subsidiary is developing most of our video games and toys and other merchandise targeted at younger demographics, but we're also in the midsts of negotiating some lucrative licensing deals with both Disney and Lego too. Disney in particular wants to develop a new line of animated cartoons and toys they call _'Magical Princesses Of Epsilon Eridani'_, complete with a themed ride at DisneyPlanet. Lego also wants to develop some cool playsets, so yeah, everything is awesome on that front. And Games Workspace, creators of the popular _WarSlammer 3000_ franchise, has recently contacted us with the possibility of obtaining a license to produce a holographic tabletop wargame. At this point, the possibilities are endless!"

"Well, that's great to hear, and I wish you all the best," replied Limburg, "but I'm afraid that's all the time we have. Thank you for your time, Herr Belleville, it was a pleasure having you on the show."

"My pleasure," he relied, "Happy New Year to you both. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to catch the next VacTrain™ supersonic maglev to New York so I can be with my girls when the Times Square ball drops."

"Absolutely. Happy New Year, Herr Belleville!" said Schmidt, before turning to face the cameras once more, "and thank you to all of our viewers out there for tuning in. But stay tuned! After the break, we'll be bringing you live coverage of the ongoing celebrations from the Tiergarten, hosted by our field reporter, Heidi Hündchentreter! Until then, this is Schaefer Schmidt and Gretchen Von Limburg, wishing you all an uber efficient and very successful 2155! And now, a word from our sponsors…"

**_Fuchs Nachrichten Holonetzwerk is proudly brought to you by Fuchsnetzwerk AG, and by its commercial sponsors: Galaxiewerke AG, Adidas AG, Volkswagen Group, Veidt Enterprises, and Ritter Sport Chocolate. Mmmm, Ritter Sport: quadratisch, praktisch, und gut! Celebrate the New Year 2155 with a Ritter Sport!_**


	39. Melisandre 1

**Melisandre (I)**

The waves repeatedly crashed and churned against the jagged rocks of Dragonstone, lashing up salt and spray against the black cliffs. The wind screamed and howled against the great walls, and up through the corridors of that ancient citadel that for a hundred years marked the seat of the old Targaryen dynasty, and the last vestige of Old Valyria.

But none of this seemed to bother her as she knelt before the stone hearth in her chambers atop the Stone Drum, working feverishly to keep the raging fire continuously stoked. "More fire!" she whispered, "more heat! Lord Of Light, come to us in the darkness. Cast your light upon me. Grant me this day your wisdom, and show us the way, for the night is dark and full of terrors, but the fire burns them all away."

Every fresh piece of dried driftwood fed into the waiting flames would send another spout of cinders and embers crackling upwards. This close to the fire, the heat would have been extremely discomforting to any other mortal, yet she was completely unphased – she hadn't even broken a sweat yet. All the while, the large ruby around her neck seemed to glow with a fierce crimson radiance.

In all of the years beyond count that she had plied her trade, Lady Melisandre of Asshai had never experienced anything quite like that which had plagued her for the last three months – well, eight-and-eighty days, to be exact (Melisandre, like other Red Priests, had an almost unnatural ability to recall the exact date and time). On that day, everything changed – everything that she had continuously seen and foreseen for years to come… had suddenly vanished. Gone – all her visions consumed by a growing darkness of uncertainty.

And then, as quickly as the old visions had faded out, new visions, different visions, slowly began to fade in, like a newborn phoenix arising out of the ashes of the old. This phenomenon troubled even an experienced and strong willed individual like Melisandre. The fact that other Red Priests of her order had reported similar occurrences gave her little comfort. Could this be the work of the Great Other? Were the end-days already upon them? If so, then her divinely ordained mission to find Azor Ahai Reborn had taken a new and frightening urgency.

It was this that had driven her to leave her home in the East, and to set sail to the shores of this tiny island adrift in the black ocean, in search of the man whose birth had been marked by a comet, the man destined to reforge Lightbringer and bring it to bear once more upon the servants of the Great Other.

It was then, when she arrived, that she heard the stories for the first time: of the foreigners who had journeyed across the heavens, from a land far, far beyond the Sunset Sea, in a ship of cold iron and steel that sailed amongst the stars themselves. Could this be the comet she was looking for, the mark of the fabled return of the Lord's champion? Perhaps it was… but for every riddle solved, a hundred more arose to take its place.

At long last, the flames reached just the right heat and ferocity. Lady Melisandre held her breath and peered into the heart of the raging inferno, hoping to perhaps catch a glimpse the Lord's plan at work. There, at the center of the flame… there was the blackness again. Nothing but the great void that had consumed her previous visions of a future that now would never be realized. All she could hear were the distant beatings of great leathery wings in the darkness – alien and batlike.

And then at once, a light began to glow – faintly at first, and then brighter and brighter, until a dazzling blue flare shot out across the heavens and resolved itself into the form of a man… no, a woman… no, a child? A ghostly pale human figure of some kind, face concealed in shadow, swaddled in robes of silver, with great black-and-white wings, soaring across the sky, while a thousand golden butterflies flapping their wings followed in his or her or its wake.

And then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone. Now, in its place, a raging torrent of thick, molten metal surged forth, spreading out across the land as far as she could see, burning and consuming all in its path. And from this pool of liquid fire arose a line of figures – men with faces of glass and bodies of liquid iron, shambling forward, moving in unison, while above, great and radiant bolts of lightning and brimstone lit up the skies in a dazzling pyrotechnic display of color and sound.

There were other visions too, though these were too faint to catch more than the briefest of glimpses. Here, the shape of a black pillar against a glaring red horizon. There, bodies locked together in lust, writhing, clawing, contorting themselves into new and grotesque shapes. Dead things slithered or crawled across the cold light of a black sun, while a man's face began to char and blacken and melt away, revealing the skull beneath. What could it all mean? Could these be the faces of the Great Enemy?

A knock at the door broke her out of her trance and brought her back to reality. Even through the roar of the fire and the sensation of heat upon her skin, she could sense the presence, feel the life energies of the person standing just outside the doors to her chamber. By the time she had gotten to her feet, she had already discerned the identity of her visitor, and the purpose of this disturbance.

"Lady Selyse, please do come in," she said as she threw open the great oak doors to her chambers. "I presume you have come to inform me that my presence has been requested at the Painted Table?"

"You presume correctly, m'lady," came the voice of Lady Selyse Baratheon, nee Florrent, and recent initiate to the one true faith. "Our noble guests have just arrived, and they have expressed an interest in… meeting you in person."

"Charming," replied the Red Priestess, "fortunately for them, the feeling is mutual. I have heard many great things of them."

Lady Selyse then noticed the little set up before the great hearth and realized what was going on. "Oh goodness, please forgive me for my intrusion," she began, "I did not mean to disturb you from your meditations with our Lord."

"The Lord Of Light does not fault you for your interruption," replied the Red Priestess, reassuringly as she placed a warm hand upon her acolyte's shoulder. "But all the same, I thank you for your show of penitence and humility."

"Oh thank you, and may the Lord's light be with you!" replied Lady Selyse as she bowed her head in reverence. "But, m'lady, if it is not too much to ask for, what is it that you see in the flames? What great knowledge has our Lord graced upon you this day?"

"You may ask," she replied, "the Lord's gifts may be freely exchanged among all those faithful to his name. The Lord Of Light, in his infinite wisdom and omniscience, has opened a window into our future. I have seen a great many things in store for your family, and for the Realm. But not all great things are for the good. And just as a cleansing fire purges the old growth to make way for the new, so too shall there be many dark times ahead for the Realm before a new order, stronger than the old, can emerge. In times like these, we must be ever vigilant. For who knows what insidious forms may be taken by those that serve the Great Enemy?"

Selyse shuddered. "Oh, surely you do not mean to suggest that… that…. these sky-peoples are the servants of… _the Great Other?_" She quickly made the sign of the Lord's flame upon her heart as if just the mere mention of that name brought ill omen.

"I do not believe so, at least not intentionally. And I am certain all will be revealed in good time." The Red Priestess smiled and caressed the hair of her follower, as if to reassure her. "But in the mean time, do not trouble yourself too much, Lady Selyse. Rest assured, the Lord Of Light watches over us all, and protects the truly faithful. As I have said before, you must always let your faith be your shield; let it be your guiding light in the darkness, and you shall have nothing to fear!" With that, she gently grasped her acolyte by the arm and began to lead her out through the doors. "Now come, let us not keep your lord husband and our dear guests waiting."

"Oh Melisandre, you are infinitely wise, and I cannot thank the Lord enough for the day he blessed us with your arrival," replied Lady Selyse. She paused. "But, that said, you may want to, uh, consider putting _something_ on first."

"Oh, um, yes," she replied, looking down at her smooth, comely naked form (as she had been disrobed this entire time). "I had almost forgotten about that. Thank you."


	40. Melisandre 2

**Melisandre (II)**

Ladies Selyse Baratheon and Melisandre of Asshai entered the Chamber Of The Painted Table – a sprawling edifice of carved stone and painted wood that shown all of Westeros, from the southmost realms of the Rhoynar, to the barbaric lands up north where the people still worshipped trees. She could not help but notice every time she entered this chamber that the map always ended at the Wall – as if there lay the very edge of the world. Oh, if only t'were true, but Melisandre knew very well that beyond that thin white line stirred the forces of darkness and the scions of the bitter cold…

Lord Stannis himself was already seated there, at the throne at the center of the table, his trusted counsels Ser Davos Seaworth and Maesters Cressen and Pylos at his side. And across from him stood the visiting party: there were four of them in total. There were two men of the Sky-Peoples (whom she could tell from the foreign clothing they wore), and a third man she recognized (by virtue of his stature and of the colors he wore) as a member of one of the other noble families of this realm.

And then there was the woman. Something about her baffled Melisandre to no end. And it was not her great height nor strength that bothered the Red Priestess – no, what bothered her was this woman's very essence, her life force… or rather, her lack thereof. Melisandre could sense that there was a light emanating from within her, but no heat, no fire of life raging within her body. It was an energy that Lady Melisandre had rarely ever felt before. Could this curious visitor be... _soulless?_ A Wight? A creature from amongst the dead, raised to walk amongst the living? Did these sky-peoples practice powerful necromancies of their own? What gods did they follow? She was determined to find out…

"Lady Melisandre," spoke the foremost member of the party as he stepped forward to extend a hand in her direction. "It is a pleasure to meet you. Lord Stannis has told us a lot about you. Allow me to introduce myself: Lord Frederick Kovacs of the Most Noble And Esteemed Company, at your service. These are my associates, Ser Daniel Zimmerman, and Lady Venya."

"The pleasure is mine," replied Melisandre, and then turned to face the third man, "and you are Lord Tyrion of the Lannisters of Casterly Rock?"

"One and the same," smiled the Imp, gazing straight ahead (it was rather noticeable that, even standing, his head was at just slightly below the level of her chest).

"Tyrion Lannister here is traveling back to the capital from the North with our guests," explained Stannis, flatly.

"Ah, that is very gracious of you, Lord Kovacs, to offer your services to others," replied Melisandre. "I have heard many tales, that your great Falcon-ship can fly higher and faster and further than any bird."

"To be precise, Directress Melisandre," answered Lady Venya, "the maximum airspeed velocity of an LXT-30 Falcon Light Transport is 4,136 km/h when operating within atmosphere, or exactly 12.925 times the maximum airspeed velocity of an unladen Peregrine Falcon (_Falco peregrinus_), the fastest known terrestrial organism of the _Aves_ class."

"Fascinating," replied Melisandre, unsure what exactly to make of it, but noting these facts down all the same, as they would surely prove useful in future. "My, you are quite a knowledgeable one. And I have heard that your falcon-ship is capable of sailing amongst the stars themselves?"

"That is partly correct," replied Lady Venya, "the LXT-30 Falcon is a single-stage-to-orbit vehicle with limited interplanetary capabilities. However, it is not capable of true interstellar travel, if that is what you meant by 'sailing amongst the stars'. For this reason, the bulk of our voyage from Earth was conducted by a larger vessel equipped with a Trans-Light Drive, the United Nations Space Vessel (U.N.S.V.) _Belo Horizonte_ ISXCT-138."

"My goodness, what sorceries you sky-peoples command!" replied Melisandre. _A 'trans-light drive?'_ she thought. _What could that possibly mean?_ The more she learned of these foreigners, the more questions they raised…

"I will elect to interpret your statement as a compliment. Thank you, Directress Melisandre," replied Lady Venya.

"So by the way," cut in Frederick, vying for the Red Priestess' attention, "we have a small facility set up near Winterfell, if any of you guys are ever interested in swinging by and checking the place out. I daresay we have a few things you'll definitely be interested in." He winked.

Throughout all of this exchange, Lord Stannis' patience for smalltalk and social niceties had been growing short (well, not that it wasn't already short to begin with). "So speak, Lord Kovacs," he commanded, "tell me: what exactly is this interest you have in our dragonglass?"

"Ah yes, about that," began Lord Kovacs. He cleared his throat. "So it's kinda like this: where we come from, obsidi…uh, _dragonglass_ is highly prized for making… jewelry and, yeah, all kinds of stuff like that. And when we heard that your little island here has some of the finest dragonglass in the Realm, we figured 'hell yeah! We gotta check this place out!' We heard you've also got some pretty cool variants of dragonglass – green dragonglass and red dragonglass and even purple too! I can tell ya, the jewelry market back home would go ga-ga for that kind of stuff! Here, we've brought some gold and silver with us, so we'll happily buy up whatever you've got."

Stannis did not answer straight away. Perhaps something in this foreigner's casual demeanor and butchering of grammar had really soured him – Lord Stannis was of that class of persons who could really be annoyed by just about anything, and sometimes Melisandre had to seriously wonder to herself if the original Azor Ahai had been just as obstinate and inflexible.

"Pssst," muttered Ser Daniel, "hey Fred, don't forget the gift."

"Oh yeah, sorry," Frederick reached into his briefcase, and then turned back to face the Lord Of Dragonstone. "Please, forgive my poor manners, Lord Stannis. We brought you a present!"

He placed the great leather-bound tome upon the surface of the Painted Table, and slid it across to the other side. Maester Cressen stepped forward to retrieve the item, inspected the contents, and then passed it along for his liege-lord's scrutiny. The book's cover bore an elaborate illustration and the title:

_Complete History Of The British Isles Vol. IV: 1485 To 1714_

"Thank you," growled Stannis in perhaps the flattest and most deadpan manner anyone had ever expressed gratitude in the history of expressing gratitude. He took a moment to inspect the book's contents, before turning back to his guests. "So you came out here to my lordly seat, sailing hundreds of miles across the skies in your falcon-ship… to collect dragonglass to make little baubles and trinkets with? Am I to understand this correctly?"

"Why, yes of course," nodded Lord Frederick. "Well… okay, if we're being entirely honest here, I also thought this would be a good excuse to, you know, come and meet you in person."

"You took the time and effort to come out here to 'meet me in person'?" said Stannis. "Not many would say that."

"Ah, yes, but we're not just anybody!" smiled Frederick. "We're The Company! We wanna do business here in Westeros that will benefit all of us equally and bring great prosperity to your realm! To this end, we have been traveling up and down your great country, making courtesy calls and forging strong bonds of friendship wherever we go!"

"Um, yes," added Ser Daniel, "and beside that, as Grand Admiral, uh, _Master Of Ships_ in your brother's Council, you are one of the most important movers and shakers in all of Westeros. We already met your brother Robert when he came north, and Fred met your little brother Renly last time he was in the capital. We thought it would only be proper and courteous to insist on meeting you as well… your lordship."

While obviously well meaning and made with the intention of courtesy, this mention of his brothers did little to appease Lord Stannis. For an awkward moment, he glared at his guests… and then, the silence was broken by the faint sounds of singing just outside the chamber.

"Is that what I think it is?" asked Lord Frederick.

"Sorry, Lord Stannis," said Ser Daniel, "but may I ask who's… uh, _singing_?"

Lord Stannis sighed, touching the palm of his right hand to his forehead and shaking his head. "Uh, that would be… Patchface, my court joculator," he said at last. "Maester Pylos, it would appear that Patchface requires our attention. Would you kindly ensure that he will disrupt our meeting no further?"

"Yes, m'lord," replied the younger Maester, who then proceeded to leave the hall. As he pushed open the great doors of the Chamber Of The Painted Table, Melisandre could hear the poor creature's madness-induced singing a little more clearly:

_"Dream of war, dream of liars,  
Dream of dragon's fire  
And of things that will bite!  
Sleep with one eye open,  
Gripping your pillow tight,  
Exit light, enter night!  
Take my hand,  
We're off to … !"_

The rest of the fool's errant singing was cut off when the great doors slammed shut again. Lord Stannis then turned to address his Onion Knight. "And you, Ser Davos: kindly show our guests here … down to the vaults. I believe the Targaryens used to keep a cache of dragonglass weaponry, jewelry, and other implements." He turned back to face his guests. "I trust that you will find what you are looking for down there, Lord Kovacs. Much of it is worthless now, but if it pleases you, then do as you see fit. Ser Davos will take care of the rest."

"Thanks. You're the man, Stan!" said Lord Frederick, bowing slightly. "Trust me, you won't regret doing business with The Company!"

Stannis said nothing in response, and waited until after the visiting party had moved on and left the hall, before he summoned Ladies Selyse and Melisandre over to his side. "What did you see today," he began, "in your fires? What do you know of these peoples?"

"My lord," replied the Red Priestess, "I believe their interest in your dragonglass serves deeper purposes than mere trinkets for other mortals. I believe their motivation … is none other than to make battle against the peons of the Great Other himself."

Selyse trembled slightly at the mention of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and quickly made the sign of the Lord's Flame upon her heart. Stannis, as usual, remained impassive, deep in thought. And then at last he spoke. "I must learn more about these sky-peoples, about their purposes here in the Realm. What are their strengths? What are their weaknesses? And if our goals do not align, then what can be done about it? I need to know."

"And how do you mean to go about this, my lord?" she replied.

"If they can spare but one more seat upon their falcon-ship," he began, "then I shall send Ser Davos to accompany them. When they return from the vaults, I shall feign an active interest in conducting further trade negotiations with them, and to this end, I shall appoint Ser Davos in an official capacity as my ambassador. He has always been very thorough and loyal in these assignments."

At first, Melisandre was deeply disappointed not to have been the one selected for this most vital of secret missions – this mystery of the sky-woman was really beginning to fester and itch at the back of her mind. But deep down, she knew that her duties were to remain here, beside the Lord Of Light's champion, and so she did not question his commands any further. "That is a very wise decision, my lord," she said in half-reluctant agreement.


	41. Sansa 1

_**Foreword: **thanks all for reading and supporting this story thus far! Remember to leave any feedback or suggestions you may have._

* * *

**Sansa (I)**

The second day of the Hand's-And-Merchant-Prince's Tourney came. Lord and smallfolk alike gathered in their thousands on the tourney grounds beside the river to watch the spectacle unfold. The splendor of it all took her breath away – the shining armor, the great chargers caparisoned in silver and gold, the banners flipping and flopping about in the wind… and the knights themselves. Oh, the knights most of all. It was everything Sansa had ever dreamt, and more.

At this moment, she was clad in a beautiful and exotic (or "modern") dress gifted to her by Lord Kovacs, complete with a little purse, finely tailored out of a magical fabric that could change color and pattern based on factors like body heat and other things. The Starks' well-known austerity usually extended down to their sense of fashion as well, but today, Sansa's new clothes had made her the belle of the ball. Oh, how she had thanked Lord Kovacs for this wonderful gift!

Right now, she was seated in the first row, together with Arya and Jeyne Poole, and her father Vayon (who was their acting chaperone today – Septa Mordane was still on the Kingsroad en route to the capital, as flying on the falcon-ship just wasn't for her). Seated right next to her was Lord Petyr Baelish. A couple places down to her left were seated the King's younger brother, Lord Renly (he had been competing just that morning, but was now out of competition), and next to him, Lord Frederick and Lady Vaenya (Ser Daniel Zimmerman and Ser Nolan McConaughey had stayed only briefly in the capital before heading back north on the falcon-ship).

"So tell me Lord Kovacs," remarked Lord Renly, "would you still call this a sport for 'little children'?"

"On Earth it is," said Frederick, "but I'll admit that here, it's actually pretty cool. I mean, on Earth, it's all just trained stuntmen and animatronics and fancy holograms – there's a lot of liability and stuff if someone really, you know, _dies_. But here? Hell yeah, I can totally dig this real stuff."

"Director R. Baratheon, you organics and your tendency towards violent and often self-destructive forms of leisure never ceases to fascinate us synthetics," added Lady Vaenya.

"So tell me, Lord Kovacs," continued the King's brother, ignoring Lady Vaenya, "what events do your people hold in place of tourneys?"

"Quite a few things actually," replied Frederick, "there's the Olympics, the English Premier League, the World Cup (we own FIFA, by the way), the Super Bowl (we also own the NFL), the World Series, NASCAR, Formula One Grand Prix… oh, and of course, the greatest sport of all time."

"And what would that be?" asked Renly.

"Why, ice hockey of course!"

"Ice hockey?"

Lord Frederick lifted the right sleeve of his formal shirt and jacket, revealing the tattoo on his shoulder. "Toronto Maple Leafs, greatest sports team of all time! And that's a fact! 23-time Stanley Cup champions, second only to the Montreal Canadiens… and the Bruins… and the Rangers… and the Blackhawks… and… well, you know what, never mind. But hey, they're still my home team, and that's all that matters to me!"

"Aye, loyalty to one's own kin is a most chivalrous virtue," agreed Renly, "do you perchance have any moving pictures of this 'ice hockey' you speak of? I'm very much interested in seeing it for myself."

"Hell yeah!" said Frederick. "Give me a few years and I might just introduce it to the North – they've got the perfect climate for it, after all. Actually, I can try and find some videos right now." He reached into his pocket and pulled out that palm-sized metallic box, that "MyPhone", he always carried around with him. "VENI, be a darling and turn on your mobile hotspot, will ya? I wanna connect to the Holonet…"

By then, however, Renly had his focus directed elsewhere. He, and the rest of the audience (sans Frederick and Lady Vaenya) had stood up to cheer as the heralds and trumpeters signaled the arrival of Ser Loras Tyrell onto the field. _He's so beautiful!_ thought Sansa, clutching at the rose he had given her yesterday, which she still wore lovingly tucked into her bodice. Her dress seemed to shift color in agreement.

Ser Loras Tyrell was slender and elegant, dressed in a suit of silver armor polished to a blinding sheen, and filigreed with twining black vines and tiny blue forget-me-nots. The audience seemed to gasp in unison when it was realized that the blue of these flowers came from actual sapphires, intricately set into the armor. Across the boy's shoulders lay a heavy woolen cape embroidered with hundreds of forget-me-nots – real ones, fresh blooms grown and cut and preserved and woven into his cape by the finest horticulturalists in all of the Reach.

His mount was a courser as slim as he – a beautiful grey mare, built for speed. The boy from Highgarden did something with his legs, and his horse pranced sideways, nimble as a dancer. Sansa's heart skipped a beat.

It skipped a beat again a second later when Ser Loras' co-finalist and opponent entered the field.

Ser Gregor The Mountain was more monster than man – and perhaps there lay some small measure of truth in the tale that the blood of giants ran strong in House Clegane. Prince Joffrey's Hound was already a tall man as it were, but even he looked positively _tiny_ next to his elder brother. And while poor, gentle Hodor back home might have come close to equaling the great brute in height, he certainly lagged far, far behind in the strength and ferocity department.

Sansa clutched at her father's arm. "Father, oh please don't let Ser Gregor hurt him!" she whispered.

"Worry not, for these are tourney lances," he replied, "they make them to splinter on impact, so no one is hurt." That did little to sooth her nerves.

She could well remember that terrifying moment from just the day before, when the Mountain had slain a lowly knight of the Vale during his second bout, running his lance under the young lad's gorget with such force that it drove through his throat, killing him instantly. The youth fell not more than twenty feet from where Sansa was seated, and yet all she could do was to sit there with her hands folded in her lap, watching with a strange and morbid fascination (and, dare she think it? A sense of _hunger_ too, that had made her realize her father had been right in keeping Lady and Nymeria chained up back at the Keep).

But that was all yesterday. Today, now, this was to be the final bout – the winner of this round would take home the grand prize. And at this moment, Ser Loras carried himself as if he had already won it; his opponent certainly seemed to already be having trouble keeping his horse under his control. The stallion was impetuous, screaming and pawing the ground, shaking his head. The Mountain kicked at the animal savagely; the horse reared and almost threw him off.

The Knight of Flowers saluted the king, rode off to the far end of the field, and lowered his lance, ready. Ser Gregor meanwhile had finally brought his mount to the line, fighting with the reins.

And then, with a blast of trumpets, it began. The Mountain's stallion broke into a hard gallop, plunging forward wildly, while the mare swam along, smooth as the finest Essosi silks. Ser Gregor wrenched his shield into position, juggled with his lance, and all the while fought to hold his unruly ride on a straight course. And then, before he knew what had hit him, Ser Loras expertly drove the point of his lance square onto his shield, and the Mountain had fallen. He was so huge that he took his horse down with him in a tangle of steel and flesh.

Sansa (and most of the audience) went wild with cheers and cries of joy. The Knight of Flowers reined up at the end of the lists. His lance was not even broken. His sapphires gleamed in the sun as he raised his visor and smiled.

It was then that she turned to see what was happening in the middle of the field. By then, Ser Gregor Clegane had disentangled himself and was back on his feet. He wrenched off his helm and slammed it down onto the ground. His great, ugly face was livid, nearly purple with rage. He then reached down and drew his great sword that rivaled lesser men for height.

His stallion was just climbing back to its feet as well. The Mountain lashed out, and killed the horse with a single blow of such ferocity that it half severed the animal's neck. Cheers turned to shrieks in a heartbeat. The poor creature collapsed to its knees, screaming as it died. Gregor then strode off down the lists toward Ser Loras, his bloody sword clutched in his fist.

"NO!" cried Sansa, breaking into tears – as was (she couldn't help but notice) Lord Renly too. Everyone else was yelling as well.

"Stop him!" Ned shouted, but his words were lost in the uproar.

"VENI, do something!" hollered Lord Frederick.

"Acknowledged, Director Kovacs," replied the lady as she stood up, and leapt over the railing in a single bound.

It all happened so fast. The Knight Of Flowers dropped his lance and struggled to reach for his own sword on time. Too late: Ser Gregor grabbed the reins of his horse; the mare smelled blood, and reared up. Loras Tyrell kept his seat, but barely. The Mountain swung his sword, a savage two-handed blow that took the boy right in the breastplate, and knocked him clean from the saddle. The courser dashed away in panic as its master lay stunned in the dirt. But as The Mountain lifted his sword again to land the killing blow, a figure as fast and nimble as the wind suddenly placed itself between the two combatants.

"Mr. Clegane: you are acting in violation of the established rules of this sporting event, and recklessly endangering the lives of others," declared Lady Vaenya. "Please desist immediately, or I will be forced to take drastic action."

Ser Gregor paused for a second, clearly in surprise, but then roared in fury. Sansa could only watch on in horror as the hulking 8-foot monstrosity towered over the 6'3" Lady Of The Company, and brought the longsword down in a killing arc with all of his massive strength behind it…

_**CLINK**_

Sansa could not believe her eyes. Lady Vaenya had… had… _caught the sword_ in her bare hands! Even the Mountain himself stared on in disbelief – all of his great strength and rage channeled into his instrument of death, and yet here the Lady had clutched the end of the blade in her hands and stopped it. She wasn't even visibly bleeding…

"Mr. Clegane, you have attempted to use violence to destroy Company™ property," she reprimanded him, "under UNASEC regulations, I am now permitted to employ force to neutralize the threat you pose." She spun around and planted a kick square into the side of the Mountain's head with enough force to send even the great brute flying backwards.

She then reached down and picked up the longsword, clutching it with one hand at each end… what in the name of the Old Gods and the New was she doing? _She was bending it!_ She continued to bend it and bend it until…

_**SNAP**_

The dreaded longsword of Ser Gregor Clegane's – longer than most men are tall – _snapped in half_, with little shards of steel shattering away from near the center as if t'were made of mere glass. The crowd was stunned silent. Nobody moved a muscle, amazed at the scene that unfolded below them.

The Mountain, however, was not finished yet. Evidently, he really loved that sword, as the next thing anyone knew, he had scrambled back to his feet and, with a roar of unquenchable rage, charged as if planning to rip Lady Venya limb to limb with his bare hands.

The Lady, however, was ready for him. As elegantly as any exotic Essosi dancer, she leapt into the air, and somersaulted right over the Mountain's head, and right down behind him. As she descended though, she grabbed the back of Ser Gregor's gorget with her right hand, landed perfectly on both feet, and then grabbed his tasset with her left hand. _And then she lifted the Mountain above her head_…

"That is so cool!" blurted out Arya.

It all happened in the blink of an eye. Ser Gregor kicked and roared in rage and punched into the air, unable to comprehend what was happening to him, but the Lady held firm for a few seconds. She then turned around, and _threw_ him – all thirty stone of him – right into the wooden barrier, thirty feet away! He crashed straight through it, headfirst. A strange silence descended over the tourney grounds; everyone was simply shocked and stunned by what they had just seen. For a few moments, The Mountain's body lay there, prone and motionless…

"VENI!" cried Lord Frederick, leaping down onto the pitch, and sprinting over to her side. "What did you do?! Is he… is he… _dead?_"

"Negative, Director Kovacs," she relied, nonchalantly, "I concluded that Mr. Clegane posed a physical danger to others while conscious, and thus incapacitation was the best available option, given the circumstances. Based on my scans of Mr. Clegane's physiology and build, I calculated that the trajectory and force with which I have thrown him will be sufficient to render him unconscious for the next few hours, but not enough to kill him or inflict any permanent brain damage. I daresay however that he will not be harboring any fond recollections of this particular tournament any time too soon."

The merchant prince got down on all fours and checked to see if the Mountain was still breathing. It was then that Sansa heard gruff and raucous laughter from right behind her.

She turned to see the Mountain's brother, Ser Sandor The Hound, clutching his belly, laughing uncontrollably. "THAT'LL DO IT!" he roared, "my brother, beaten by a… a _WOMAN!_ HA!" The Hound then began to whistle and cheer. Others joined him. Within seconds, the entire tourney ground had gone wild with applause. "Three cheers for the ruddy little Iron Wench!" roared the Hound again. "Hip-hip-HOORAH! Hip-hip-HOORAH!"

By then, King Robert and Lords Eddard and Renly had all finally come to their senses, and had climbed down onto the pitch, and were rushing over to the scene of the crime, followed by several of the Kingsguard. Sansa and Arya too instinctively jumped down and followed their father.

Throughout this entire episode, Ser Loras had watched from the ground, paralyzed with fear, a growing golden puddle having sprouted forth from his loins and soiled much of his beautiful cape. But he was still alive, and he now knelt at the Lady's feet. "I owe you my life!" he declared.

"Your gratitude has been acknowledged, Mr. Tyrell," she replied.

Ser Loras then got to his feet and addressed the crowd: "I hereby cede my first place and all of my winnings to Lord Kovacs and Lady Vaenya of the Most Noble And Esteemed Company. Thank you!"

"Uh… I am pleased that you are safe," began Ned, "that was… most dangerous..."

"THAT was INCREDIBLE! Ha-HA!" chuckled the King as he seized Frederick and Vaenya both in a back-breaking bearhug. "MAGNIFICENT! The BARDS will SING of this TOURNEY for years and YEARS to come!"

Sansa ran forward to hug Lady Vaenya too. As an up-and-coming queen, she really should have conducted herself more appropriately in public, but she couldn't help herself – the Knight Of Flowers owed his life to this woman (and in any case, extending this same display of affection directly to her teenage heartthrob would have drawn much ire and suspicion).

Lady Vaenya then turned to address Lord Kovacs. "It appears that you will be receiving your gold after all, Director Kovacs," she said.

"Yes, I… what?" replied Frederick.

"As you may recall, 53 days ago, you suggested that I be entered as a contestant in the tournament, partly motivated by your desire for the first-place prize. It would appear that by unexpected circumstances, I have now been named as the champion of this sporting event. I do not require gold to function, but I suspect that you will make better and more efficient use of it."

Frederick was wide-eyed with disbelief. "Really? You're the best! I… I… I wish you were a person!"

"I will elect to interpret your statement as a compliment," she replied. "Thank you, Director Kovacs."


	42. Brandon 1

**Brandon (I)  
**  
Bran looked down, and saw the whole world spread out below him, a tapestry of blue and white and brown and green. He could see the entire realm, and everyone upon it.

He saw Winterfell as the falcons did, the great wall and tall towers looking squat and stubby from above. With each passing month, Winterfell was changing – whether it was a new flameless lantern installed here, or new glass windows there, or new paintwork, or newer steel stoves and chimney burning away in the kitchens. But beneath it all, it was and would always be the castle that he had always known and loved.

First, he saw Maester Luwin in his study, studying a small mountain of books gifted him by the foreigners, and frowning as he made notes and entered numbers into a funny little device. Then, Bran looked over the walls, and saw the great commotion that lay outside…

There lay Winter Town, abuzz like Brandon had never seen it before. The marketplace was crowded with hundreds of people bustling about under the town's new clock-tower; even merchants from across the Narrow Sea had come to see the latest goods the foreigners had brought to this world – from simple objects like steel blades and kitchenware, to strange and wondrous new medicines and "fertilizers" for the fields, to complex devices like those "flameless lanterns" that drew their power from the sun, and for which Essosi merchants were willing to pay thrice the device's weight in gold. Meanwhile, new houses were springing up throughout town – bigger houses, perhaps inspired by the ideas and designs of the sky-people, or just by the sudden abundance of nails and paints and glass in the marketplace.

And then he saw his brother Robb, taller and stronger than he remembered him, astride a great charger, Grey Wind at his side, commanding hundreds of men through long and tiresome drills. Most of these men carried pikes and halberds, but Bran could see that a few of them carried those new "fire-arms" that could cast bolts of fire across hundreds of feet. And then he saw the bigger fire-arms: great tubes of metallic death sitting atop wheels, that required a half-dozen men to move and operate. At Robb's command, a man-at-arms tugged at a rope attached to one of these devices; with a great and furious roar, it spat forth a solid iron ball with such ferocity that a solid wooden target set up a few hundred yards away was ripped into splinters by the impact. Immediately, Robb's gathered bannermen - the lords of Torrhen's Square, the Dreadfort, and beyond - erupted into a great cheer and clamor at this display of power in their hands... a power not seen in the Realm since the last of the Targaryens' dragons died.

Bran then looked north, following the new road cut through the forest to Autumn's Frontier. A half-dozen of those foreigners' wheeled vehicles called "trucks" trundled back and forth along the road, hauling more of those foreign-made goods and wares and gold to Winterfell, while hauling new workers, food supplies, and other provisions up to the colony.

And then there was the colony itself. Brandon couldn't help but feel both awe and terror at the sprawling sight of it all. In only three months, a massive hole larger than Winterfell had been cut into the ground - an ugly scar in the flesh of the world. "Fire in the hole!" screamed a lowly laborer as an explosion rocked the quarry, dislodging hundreds of tons of solid rock into mere rubble, while hundreds of laborers attacked the earth with shovels and picks and those noisy foreign devices called "jackhammers".

Great furnaces burned, belching clouds of black smoke into the air, while glowing liquid metal gushed along channels into waiting vats. He could see Jon there - shaved and dressed like one of the knights of the Sky-People; he was laying on his belly, brandishing one of those 'fire-arms', taking aim at a target a few hundred feet away from him. He and others like him were being overseen by that valiant knight of the Sky-Peoples, Ser Hawthorne, who would bark orders to which Jon and the others would reply with cries of "Sir! Yes, Sir!"

And then Bran looked beyond the colony. Perhaps it was an illusion, but he could have sworn he could see remote patches where the Weirwoods of the forest were weeping and slowly shriveling up, slowly dying. Finally he looked even further north. He saw the Wall shining like blue crystal. And he looked past the Wall, past endless forests cloaked in snow, past the frozen shore and the great blue-white rivers of ice and the dead plains where nothing grew or lived…

It was then that Brandon felt himself falling again… only this time, he realized, he was actually falling _upwards_, into the sky, away from the ground. Faster and faster he flew, until the realm began to shrink, and the skies began to darken, from azure to teal to dark blue to finally a solid midnight black. He cried out and tried to reach for the safety of the ground again, but could only see the entire realm shrunken into a tiny blue orb floating, surrounded on all sides by the great blackness of the void, punctured only by the glimmer of stars.

Now he was truly alone amidst the eternal darkness, and yet he could feel that he was still flying forward, plunging through the void at dizzying speeds. Bran wanted to cry out, to scream, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out.

"What are you crying about, Brandon Stark?" asked the voice that made him at last notice the raven that sat upon his left shoulder for the first time. "Don't you know, in space no one can hear you scream?"

"Who are you? Where am I?" cried Bran in desperation. As before, the words did not come out of his mouth, but the raven seemed to have read his mind.

"You are far, far from home," replied the crow, "further, in fact, than any one of your kind has ever traveled, even in their wildest imaginations."

"Can you help me?" he said.

"I'm afraid I cannot help you, but I know someone who can. And if you're willing to follow, I will lead you to him." The raven turned its head to gaze straight ahead at… nothing at first. And then, one of the distant stars began to twinkle and glow, and grow, and before long, another celestial blue orb had materialized before his eyes.

"Is… is that home?" asked Bran, "is that the world?"

"It is _a_ world. But it is not _your_ world."

Bran looked at the crow on his shoulder, and the crow looked back – only now he realized it was like no crow he had ever seen before: with a blue and purple plumage, a beak and claws that glinted and shined like they were made of brass, and three eyes – no, it had two eyes, and a glowing blue gem set into its forehead. He tried to look into that gem, but found that he could not, for something about it burned and stung his eyes, like trying to state at the sun itself.

Bran looked back at the world. It was flying at him at vicious speed – soon, it dominated all he could see. Vast oceans of blue were broken up by jagged landmasses of green and brown. Above it all, dark, tumultuous storm clouds swirled and raged about. As he continued to fall, he entered one such cloud: flashes of brilliant black and purple lightning lit up the sky, while tiny droplets of water and pieces of ice and Gods-know-what stung and lashed at his face. And when they emerged from the bottom, he could see that there was nothing below him but snow and cold and death, a frozen wasteland where jagged blue-white spires of ice waited to embrace him. They flew up at him like a sea of spears. He saw the broken bodies and decayed skeletons of a thousand other dreamers impaled upon their points, all manner of chittering scavengers and other creatures flitting about between them. It was a sickening and terrifying sight to behold.

"Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?" he heard his own voice saying, small and far away. And then, his father's voice replied to him: "that is the only time a man can be brave."

Death and eternal damnation reached up for him, screaming. Without thinking, Bran spread his arms out, and took flight.

Wings unseen drank the wind and filled and pulled him upward. The terrible lands of ice and death receded from down below him. The sky opened up above. Bran soared. It felt amazing.

"I'm flying!" he cried out in delight, sailing back up through the clouds, through the brilliant glowing and dancing tendrils of the northern lights against a purple sky, before finally coming to a stop at the edge of the black void. Brandon came to a rest, looking out over the world spread out below him, feeling joyous and weightless, his clothes and his cape flapping and slowly floating about him.

"Good," replied the raven, "you've taken your first steps into a wider world. If you want to see more, to learn more, to achieve more, you'll know where to find me." With that, the bird finally left its perch upon his shoulder, spreading its wings and soaring down to the world below…

Brandon woke up, feeling weak and dizzy.

He looked around him – his vision was a blur. It took several long minutes before he could see clearly enough to make out the shape of the man standing in his room. No, was it a woman? Not that either. It looked like… like a white-blue glowing ghost, a phantom hovering in the air. But he had seen enough of the foreigners' moving, living pictures that they called "holograms" to realize that this figure was one too.

"Good morning, Patient B. Stark," it spoke at last with a warm and polite, if somewhat strangely intoned, voice. "I am MX-87, your personal healthcare assistant. How may I be of service to you?"

"Where…" he began, looking around. It was a small but clean room, with walls and furniture made of polished white metal. All manner of strange, beeping, blinking, foreign devices surrounded him. Through the window, he could see the nighttime sky, and glowing amidst it, like the Moon, was a world - _the world from his dreams_. "Where am I? What... what happened to me?"

"A pertinent inquiry," spoke the ghost, "you have been in a medically induced coma for 57 days and 8 hours. On Day 37, you fell from a height of 12 meters (40 feet) and shattered your lower vertebrae in the impact. You were immediately rushed to the medical center at the colony of Autumn's Frontier. There, Doctor K. Chakwas diagnosed you and concluded that you would be rendered paraplegic for the rest of your life without further medical intervention. Director F. Kovacs, as a gesture of friendship towards your father, offered to have you brought here to undergo spinal reconstructive surgery. On Day 43, you were transferred to this facility aboard Valkyrie 02 (arriving on Day 45, due to the interplanetary distances involved). For the first 37 days, you were kept under supervision while our biolab used your cells to grow replacement tissue. However, some replacements could not be grown for various reasons, and so we instead had several cybernetic replacements implanted. These implants were installed two weeks ago, when you underwent three vital surgeries over a single 48-hour period. The fact that you are now awake and capable of surviving without life support shows that your body has accepted the implants. This is all very good news indeed; it means that you will make an almost 130% complete recovery – the extra 30% accounts for new abilities granted by our cybernetic enhancements, which I daresay are far superior to any comparable organic component."

Most of this information completely flew right over Bran's head. And while helpful, had failed to answer the question that really mattered. "Where is here?" He asked again.

The ghost replied: "you are currently in Room 14 of the medical bay of the United Nations Space Vessel (U.N.S.V.) _Belo Horizonte_ ISXCT-138, locked in geostationary orbit over the planet of Epsilon Eridani L0, or EE-L0, at a distance of approximately 40,000 km (24,854.85 miles), with a perigree of 37,988 km (23,604.65 miles) and an apogee of 42,012 km (26,105.05 miles)."

"And that… that's not where… where home is, is it?" asked Bran.

"A very astute observation, Patient B. Stark. You are correct. The planet you see outside your holo-window is Planet EE-L0, the largest habitable world within the Epsilon Eridani System. To answer your inquiry exactly, you are a native of the Western Continent (designated 'Westeros') of Planet EE-L4, one of four habitable worlds in the Epsilon Eridani System. Your homeworld has been designated as such by the United Nations Administration for Space Exploration and Colonization (or U.N.A.S.E.C.) because it orbits at the fourth Lagrangian (L4) point of Planet EE-L0."

"Is this the world you are from?" asked Bran, "or... or one of the other two?"

"Negative. Our homeworld, Earth, is located in a separate system, the Sol System, located 10.5 light years away. However, you are correct in your assertion that Planets EE-L0, EE-L5, and EE-L3 are all home to indigenous human populations. As of today, joint Company™/U.N. colonization efforts are active on the former two, while a forward reconnaissance mission is in the process of being dispatched to the latter. We are awaiting the arrival of further personnel and assets aboard the U.N.S.V. _Joseph Conrad_ before we press ahead with the colonization of EE-L3."

Bran sat and thought over his lurid vision again. _You'll know where to find me, said the crow_. He then addressed the phantom again: "who… who is in charge here? Is Lord Kovacs or Ser Zimmerman or Ser Hawthorne here? I… need to speak with someone."

"Certainly," replied MX-87, "please stay put; a representative of The Company™ will be on hand momentarily." He paused. "Patient B. Stark, it has also just come to my attention that you will also be receiving a special visitor."

_A visitor?,_ thought Bran, _who could it possibly be? Father? Mother? Robb or Jon? Sansa or Arya? Rickon or even Uncle Benjen?_ His question was answered seconds later when the door opened, and in entered…

"Good boy!" cried Brandon as a familiar friend leapt onto the bed and began licking away at his face. He laughed and reached up and returned the direwolf's affection, patting the creature on its thick furry head.

"Good morning, Mr. Stark," came a voice. Brandon looked up to see the woman in the doorway. She was dressed in a simple, white, but clean-cut outfit that reminded him of the "Sky-People clothing" that Lord Kovacs wore, and she spoke with an accent that sounded vaguely Dornish. "I am Dr. Cristina Di Stefano; I'm a colleague of Mr. Kovacs and Zimmerman. Welcome to the _Belo Horizonte_." She took a seat at the chair beside his bed. "I trust you'll see that the staff here have been taking very good care of your friend for you." She smiled. "Mr. Teller was opposed to bringing live animals aboard ship, but we convinced him otherwise. A couple guys over in Engineering even adopted him as a mascot or something; gave him a nickname: Summer. Ha! I guess it must be the eyes."

"Summer?" replied Brandon, looking into the beast's golden sun-like eyes, "I like that name."


	43. Sansa 2

_**Foreword:** thanks again for the positive feedback. In this chapter, be prepared to eat, drink, and make merry, for from here onwards, shit starts to hit the fan. Read on!_

* * *

**Sansa (II)  
**  
"LET the CUPS be FILLED!" proclaimed the King, once the Gods had been given their due. His cupbearer poured a whole flagon of dark Arbor red into the golden chalice that most would have needed two hands to handle; the Great Stag raised it high with a single hand. "To OUR honored GUESTS, Lord KOVACS, the Merchant PRINCE!" he continued, "AND to the IRON LADY VAENYA! And to a THOUSAND marvelous YEARS of FRIENDSHIP, peace, and PROSPERITY between the SEVEN KINGDOMS, and the Most NOBLE And Esteemed COMPANY!"

"TO KOVACS AND VAENYA!" the hall shouted back at him. A thousand cups clinked together, and the feast was well and truly begun. Lord Kovacs stood and smiled and waved from his place-of-honor at the high table, returning the crowd's affection. Lady Vaenya likewise followed her liege lord's motions, though something about her dull and rigid movements suggested that this concept of praise and revelry was almost alien to her.

Compared to the memorable events of the day before, the third day of The Hand's-And-Merchant-Prince's Tourney had been a right bore… well, not entirely. The archery match and the grueling three-hour melee that morning had each delivered their own share of thrills and spills, and the trade fair that afternoon had drawn quite a gathering, especially to the stall where Lord Kovacs had shown off but a few of the many wares and wonders of the Sky-Peoples.

But none of these events could just quite hold a candle up to yesterday's spectacle, when the "Iron Lady" (as she was quickly coming to be known by for her incredible strength) had thrown about the Mountain of Clegane himself, of all people, as if he amounted to little more than a child's ragdoll. "The Iron Wench of The Company" had become a living legend overnight, and even the smallfolk could be heard in taverns and inns throughout the capital that night, singing many praises to her (as well as some considerably less flattering lines too).

In spite of her newfound fame, however, she wasn't without her detractors as well. Over the last few hours, Sansa had heard a rumor had already begun going around among the impressionable smallfolk, claiming that the Merchant Prince's lady-in-waiting was not a person at all, but rather some kind of soulless construct of flesh powered by forbidden necromancies. And even from the safety of the Red Keep, Sansa could occasionally hear a rambling preacher down in the streets below, proclaiming the Sky-Peoples and all of their 'infernal devices' to be unholy abominations against the Gods.

And on top of all of this, Sansa had to wonder too what Lord Tywin Lannister would react when the news inevitably reached his ears of the fate that had befallen his Mountain. Granted, the Warden Of The West would never have endorsed the disgraceful actions of his bannerman in striking Lord Mace Tyrell's third-born son. But all the same, it seemed that the Sky-Peoples were persistently making themselves into a thorn in the side of Casterly Rock; out of that entire pride of lions, only the monstrous Halfman was in any way, shape, or form forthcoming towards the foreigners.

But enough of that for now, thought Sansa. No, now was a time to forget all of those concerns, and to eat and drink and make merry. The first dish was already being served: a creamy soup of mushrooms and buttered snails, served in gilded bowls. As this light appetizer was being distributed among the revelers, the Royal Tasters went about their duties, sampling every last dish and flagon of wine – once the all clear was given, the guests could begin tucking in.

Sansa, hungry from having scarcely eaten at all that day, finished quickly: one done, sixteen more to come. King Robert had spared no expense on the final seventeen-course feast that was to mark the end of the tourney – that had been the compromise he had made with her lord father: the King would agree to the proposal to reduce the main Tourney's grand prize to a measly ten thousand Gold Dragons, on the condition that some of the budget saved would go towards the banquet instead. Lord Stark was reluctant to accept, but relented after seeing no other way to convince His Grace otherwise.

Nevertheless, even with the extra twenty-thousand spent on the final banquet, the Crown had still made a sizeable net saving on King Robert's original proposal, and Lord Kovacs' suggestion of holding a trade fair on the third day had helped mitigate some of the treasury's losses by generating some revenue from both the sales taxes, as well as various 'corporate sponsorships' by local businesses in return for having their wares and services advertized by the heralds between events. (You see, Sansa usually cared little for issues of coin and crop. But by virtue of being the Hand-Of-The-King's daughter, one couldn't help but overhear such matters of the state being discussed from time-to-time…)

As she hungrily nibbled away at the sweet lemon cakes served between courses, Sansa took the time to look up and down the Great Hall of the Red Keep. She and her Little Lion of a husband-to-be were seated at the head table, just to the left-hand of the King and Queen. On the other side of His Grace sat her Lord Father, as well as Lord Kovacs and Lady Venya, and the other first-prize winners, of the melee and archery – a Myrish warrior priest named Thoros, and some lowly commoner of the Dornish Marches named Anguy, respectively. Beneath the table, she could hear Nymeria and Lady gnawing away happily at the scraps.

Everyone else sat in the lower tables. Judging from the dozens of banners she could spy from her position, it looked like all the lordly houses of the Crownlands, Stormlands, and the Reach were here in force, while the Riverlords and the houses of the Vale and the Westerlands were respectably represented. Only her native North, Dorne, and the Iron Islands were noticeably and largely absent, though this could be attributed to both the great travel distances involved, as well as these regions' great cultural differences to the rest of the Andal kingdoms.

Surprisingly, one house still well represented at the feast was that of House Clegane, though tonight they would be championed primarily by The Hound; apparently, his elder brother Ser Gregor had recovered physically from his little tumble, but not emotionally, and had left the capital earlier that morning with his tail between his legs.

Sansa called for more wine – drawing a disapproving glance from her father and Septa Mordane, but she cared little for that. Her dress flushed a bright saffron. By the time the serving boy finally came 'round, the second course was being served: a pastry coffyn filled with pork, pine nuts, and eggs. Once more, the tasters came first and sampled all of the wine and dine before the diners could commence, but the wait was well worth it.

A blast of trumpets signaled the arrival of the first singer. Grey-bearded Hamish the Harper announced that he would perform "for the ears of gods and men, a song ne'er heard before in all the Seven Kingdoms." He called it _The Wrath Of The Iron Woman_, though anyone with even the faintest acquaintance with the Free Cities would have recognized it as a traditional Volantene song with the lyrics simply reworked.

The Harper also gave them several more familiar songs, opting to continue tonight's repertoire with _A Rose Of Gold_, sung for the benefit of Ser Loras and the rest of the delegation from Highgarden no doubt. Sansa watched and listened with half-an-ear, as she sampled some of the sweetcorn fritters baked with pitted dates, apple slices, and orange within. Under the table, Lady and Nymeria loudly gnawed away on the ribs of a wild boar.

Thereafter dishes and diversions succeeded one another in a staggering profusion, buoyed along upon an incoming tide of wine and ale. Servants served and tasters tasted, singers sang while fools fooled about. After Hamish left, a troupe of Pentoshi tumblers performed cartwheels and handstands, balanced platters on their bare feet, and knelt upon each other's backs to form a pyramid. Their feats were accompanied by crabs boiled in fiery Dornish spices, trenchers filled with chopped mutton stewed in almond milk with carrots and onions, and fish pastries fresh from the ovens. The wine and beer was going down as fast as new kegs could be rolled in (Sansa and her husband-to-be were lucky to both be over ten, and thus free of the one-glass restriction imposed on the younger revelers – even the Crown Prince's own siblings, young Tommen and Myrcella, weren't exempted from this rule).

Sansa stole another glance at the Sky-People. Lady Vaenya was largely quiet and reserved throughout the entire affair, and ate surprisingly little. Numerous men, young lordlings and dashing knights would stride up to the High Table and attempt to strike up a conversation, and yet she seemed strangely passive and disinterested in any of them, and would oft reply in a cryptic and loquacious manner that would leave these would-be suitors with puzzled looks upon their faces.

Lord Frederick, on the other hand, was having the time of his life, happily chatting and laughing away as a small group of young maidens and ladies-of-the-court gathered about him, eager to hear his many wondrous tales of the Sky-Peoples, of their homelands, and of their marvelous devices. The sight of those moving pictures, those "holograms" he could conjure with the help of that little metal box of his, awed his growing legion of followers to no end. If it weren't for the Sky-People's "birth control", Sansa wouldn't have been surprised if the Merchant Prince fathered at least one bastard that night.

With great fanfare, the heralds summoned another singer to the stage: Collio Quaynis of Tyrosh, who began with his version of _The Dance Of The Dragons_, which was more properly a song for two singers, male and female. Sansa endured it with a double helping of honey-ginger partridge and another glass of wine. A haunting romantic ballad set amidst the Doom of Old Valyria might have pleased the hall more if Collio had not sung it in High Valyrian, which barely anyone there tonight could speak. But a lively and ribald rendition of _The Bear And The Maiden Fair_ was sure to win back the crowd.

Roasted peacocks were being served whole in their plumage (and drawing a comment from Lady Vaenya about "endangered species", whatever those meant) when Collio summoned a drummer, bowed low before the King and Queen, and launched into _The Rains Of Castamere_. To be entirely honest, Sansa couldn't help but feel that this particular song – all gloom and doom and rains weeping o'er empty halls – was perhaps a little misplaced at this otherwise festive occasion, so she was a little grateful when the King himself slammed down his chalice and disrupted the bard's beat halfway through.

"ENOUGH! This BLOODY SONG sure puts a right DAMPENER on any FESTIVE occasion," remarked the King, prompting some laughter (particularly among those not particularly beholden to House Lannister) – the Queen shot a look of ice at him, but held her tongue. The King continued: "Lord KOVACS, it OCCURS to me that I have YET to hear YOU SING one of your SKY-PEOPLE SONGS! Perhaps YOU would HONOR us with your VOICE tonight?"

Everyone turned to look at Lord Kovacs.

The Merchant Prince was surprised at first, but then smiled. "Certainly, Your Majesty," he replied. He then turned to his counterpart: "VENI, do you still have that Holo-Karaoke App installed? You know, the one I downloaded back during Christmas?"

"Affirmative, Director Kovacs."

"Great! Pull up Track 18 for me, will ya? I think our friends here will get a kick outta it."

"This'll be GOOD!" remarked the King, rubbing his hands together in eager anticipation. He turned to face one of the Kingsguards standing right behind him. "HERE, Ser SELMY, you and your BROTHERS must have a DRINK on ME!"

"I thank you, Your Grace," replied the elderly warrior, respectfully, "but I have had my fill for the evening." Nevertheless, several of his Sworn Brothers of The White, including Sers Jaime Lannister, Meryn Trant, and Arys Oakheart, were only too happy to oblige His Grace's command to partake in the festivities.

When he was ready, Lord Kovacs stepped forward in front of the High Table, where all could see him. He cleared his throat. "Hit it, VENI!" he commanded.

Lady Vaenya, standing right behind Lord Kovacs, held up both of her arms. At once, her palms began to glow with a brilliant blue light that illuminated the entire hall. The audience gasped in awe of the spectacle - even those who had already seen these moving pictures before, these "holograms" of the Sky-Peoples, were amazed.

Several clear, ghost-like figures materialized in the air above them, dressed in strange clothes and even stranger hairstyles. Each of these apparitions carried a musical instrument of some kind: one of the figures sat, surrounded by a large set of many different drums; the other two carried bizarre lute-like stringed instruments. In perfect unison, the figures began to play, sending their song reverberating throughout the hall. Fred smiled to the audience and began to sing:

_"'There must be some kinda way outta here'  
Said the joker to the thief  
'There's too much confusion,  
I can't get no relief.'_

_Businessmen, they drink my wine_  
_Ploughmen dig my earth_  
_None of them along the line_  
_Know what any of it is worth._

_'No reason to get excited,'_  
_The thief he kindly spoke,_  
_'There are many here among us_  
_Who feel that life is but a joke.'_

_'But you and I, we've been through that,_  
_And this is not our fate._  
_So let us not talk falsely now,_  
_The hour is getting late.'_

_All along the watchtower,_  
_Princes kept the view,_  
_While all the women came and went,_  
_And barefoot servants too._

_Outside in the distance,_  
_A wildcat growled._  
_Two riders were approachin',_  
_AND THE WIND BEGAN TO HOWL!"_

The hall went wild with applause. Sansa too was enraptured; her dress changed color to a deep blue.

"Marvelous," commended Joffrey, clapping politely. He coughed, cleared his throat, and took a swig of wine. He turned to Sansa and muttered, "when I'm King, Lord Kovacs will always be welcome in my court – he'll make an excellent fool. He'll sing me more of his Sky-People music whenever I so command it." He suddenly coughed and wheezed again, as if something were blocking his throat.

"Your Grace?" inquired Sansa, grasping her future husband by the arm, but Joffrey shook her off.

"It's nothing, I'm perfectly fine," sneered the Prince, getting up. And then he turned to face the hall once more… and fell face forward onto the table, vomiting violently. The cheering abruptly stopped. Sansa screamed. The crowd gasped. The direwolves began to growl and bark.

"My son!" cried the Queen, but as she got up to run to his side, she too collapsed into a fit of wild coughing and retching up of her dinner. The King yelled in surprise, and quickly got up and caught the Queen in his arms as she fell to the floor. When she looked up again, her eyes were bloodshot, while her face began to redden and puff up with boils.

That was when Sansa lost it; she gagged, and her poor abused stomach sent all seventeen courses - a volatile mix of soup and wine and lemon cakes and buttered snails and roasted peacock - gurgling back up her throat and out onto her beautiful dress, which had changed color again, this time to a deep amethyst purple. By contrast, her sister Arya was made of sterner stuff, and didn't vomit; instead, she immediately ran to her sister's side to help her.

That was when all Seven Hells broke loose, as people cried and shouted and pushed and jostled to get out of the Great Hall, in full panic now that word had gotten out of the poison in the food. At one end of the hall, several guardsmen began ganging up on one of the Royal Tasters, beating the poor young lad to a pulp for his apparent failure. Further along, one of the white-cloaked Kingsguards suddenly fell to the floor, seemingly overcome by the same poison that now afflicted both the Queen and the Crown Prince. Throughout all of this, the direwolves howled and barked madly. A servant stepped forward to restrain Nymeria, and was promptly bitten in the hand.

At Ned's command, Jory Cassel hurried forward, took Sansa, Arya, and Jeyne Poole by the hand, and quickly led them out of the Hall, out through the rear doors. The Direwolves stopped howling, and obediently followed their masters close behind. As she and her sister were led through the doorway, the last thing Sansa could see and hear from the hall was King Robert himself, sullen and livid with rage like she had never seen him before, looking to the skies and roaring, "YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!" to no one in particular.


	44. Fred 8

_**Foreword:** when the previous chapter was first posted, it caused quite a stir, and drew a lot of great theories from all the readers. Thank you for all your fantastic comments, and I'm almost sorry to be dropping a rather anti-climactic revelation in this chapter! But alas, here we go with a seemingly innocent little action gone horribly, horribly wrong (or right, depending on your point-of-view)..._

* * *

**Guest Chambers, The Red Keep  
City of King's Landing, "Crownlands" Territory  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4**

_Shit_, thought Fred, furiously pacing back and forth. _Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit! What the fuck just happened? That wasn't supposed to happen! Daniel, I'm gonna kill you when I get back – if I make it outta here at all! Shit. Shit. Shit…_

The sounds of someone approaching and entering the great doors nearly made Fred flip out and reach into his pockets for the handy shock-taser he always carried around with him (a necessity, he decided, in a world that seemed to have been tailor-made to follow Machiavelli's Prince to the tee). Fortunately, he was relieved when he turned around and saw that it was only VENI…

"Director Kovacs," she began, "I have just been assisting with providing emergency medical care to the following contaminated individuals: Monarch J. Baratheon, Monarch C. Lannister, and Commander J. Lannister. All three subjects are now in a stable condition, and will make a full recovery. I have also covertly obtained DNA samples from all three subjects that we may analyze upon our return to Autumn's Frontier."

"That's… that's great, VENI," replied Fred, somewhat relieved that no one was going to die because of him… well, at least not yet. _On the other hand, they are NOT going to be pleased when they wake up_… "So... uh… what's the news? What happened?"

"A pertinent inquiry," she replied, "it is currently unknown as to whom exactly was the perpetrator of what to the indigenous populace appears to have been a politically motivated assassination. I have overheard Monarch R. Baratheon openly express a suspicion that this incident was orchestrated by political factions sympathetic to the previous reigning dynasty. To this end, he has declared his intentions of conducting a retaliatory action against any and all surviving members and supporters of the Targaryen regime. I, however, cannot fully endorse his proposed course of action, as I have my own separate suspicions."

"Ah… okay," replied Fred, "and… and what would those suspicions be?"

"I have yet to disclose these observations to any other organic, as I concluded it would be wiser to consult with you, seeing as you are the appointed head of our mission here. While I was in the process of providing medical care to the afflicted individuals, I had the opportunity to run some preliminary tests on samples of their blood and emetic secretions. However, these tests are as yet very basic, and I cannot perform a full analysis until I can access our more advanced laboratory facilities back at our colony. Nevertheless, my preliminary observations have revealed several important details.

"Firstly, the symptoms I have diagnosed do not seem to be indicative of any known toxin – at least, according to the database on toxins native to Planet EE-L4 that I compiled during my research in the library of Winterfell. Rather, I have noticed that the symptoms exhibited by all three afflicted subjects are more akin to a severe anaphylactic reaction after ingestion of an adulterant found within the culinary items presented at tonight's banquet.

"Next, I have observed that this adulterant may bear some similarity in composition to the bio-medical substance TRXY-180, which, interestingly enough, is manufactured by The Company™'s pharmaceuticals division, and of which several hundred canisters may be found among the supplies manifest of our colony's medical center. Director Kovacs, are you familiar with the specifications of the substance of which I am speaking?"

"Uh… no…" replied Fred, hesitantly, "not at all. Would you care to… explain?"

"Affirmative. TRXY-180, as you may or may not be aware, is a biochemical substance with several medical applications, first introduced by BioSynth Technologies Inc. in 2058 C.E., a few years prior to their acquisition by The Company™. TRXY-180 is one of several bioproducts available on the market today that is manufactured in such a way so as to be relatively easily modifiable to target only a specific organic individual's DNA. Ingestion by an individual lacking that specific DNA sequence will yield no discernable effects.

"As you know, the technology to target specific genes was originally developed in the years leading up to World War Three; it was originally conceived as a means of enabling government agencies to perform assassinations simply by releasing engineered pathogens into an area that are designed to target only one specific individual. The basic principle was the avoidance of widespread collateral damage commonly associated with the deployment of other forms of biological warfare.

"TRXY-180, by contrast, was designed postwar for primarily peaceful purposes. In addition to modifying the exact strand of DNA targeted, the substance may also be modified to produce several different results upon reacting to the target subject's DNA: it may be modified to act as a coagulation agent for treating open wounds, an anesthetic, an analgesic, an antipyretic, or as a laxative, among other uses. It may be applied in a liquid, gel, or solid form. It may be applied directly to an open wound, ingested, injected into the bloodstream, or applied as a suppository. Because of its flexibility and utility, TRXY-180 was widely hailed as a major medical breakthrough when it first entered the consumer market, even going so far as to earn Nobel Prizes in Medicine for the BioSynth research team in 2059 C.E.

"However, TRXY-180 is manufactured from a number of biological compounds, including, but not limited to, certain proteins and lipids found in various species of the _Fabaceae_ family of plants. Following its introduction in the 2050s, the use of TRXY-180 was immediately heavily regulated, as it was found to induce severe allergic reactions in up to 0.6% of the population of the United States of America. However, thanks to gene therapy and other biomedical advances, this particular allergy and many other similar conditions have been all but eradicated (leading to the relaxation of most regulations governing the use of TRXY-180). Nevertheless, I suspect that the same cannot be said for the indigenous organics of EE-L4."

"Okay..." muttered Fred, sweating profusely, "so... if I'm understanding you correctly, you're suggesting that someone tried to play a... _laxative prank_ on Joffrey? And that he suffered an _unintended allergic reaction_?"

"While I cannot yet prove any of these assertions with near-100% certainty, nevertheless, this is the general direction the available evidence is pointing towards at the current moment."

"But that's… uh, _ridiculous!_" exclaimed Fred, "Yes, totally and utterly preposterous! What kinda idiot would do such a thing, right? And in any case, if this thing really was targeted specifically at Joff… why were Cersei and Jaime affected too? Yeah, I know Cersei's his mom and Jaime's his uncle, but then Robert and Tyrion should have been affected too!" At least for this second part, he expressed genuine surprise and confusion.

"Actually, I have formulated a theory pertaining to this inconsistency that you have identified," she explained. "However, please excuse my slight deviation from the topic at hand, but I have observed, based on your tone of voice, facial movements, and the fact that you are tightly gripping a concealed weapon in your pocket, that you are currently experiencing high levels of stress. Is something bothering you, Director Kovacs?"

"Oh, it's nothing… nothing at all," lied Fred, "please, do go on."

"Very well. All of these analyses bring me to an important conclusion: I do not believe the indigenous organics possess the biotechnology capabilities needed to fabricate such a substance as one almost exact in composition to TRXY-180. I have also ruled out the possibility that any of them may have acquired TRXY-180 by stealing it from our compound, as our biolabs and medical center are high security facilities monitored constantly by a thorough surveillance grid."

"So… uh… what are you getting at?" asked Fred. Something told him that this was the part he was really dreading.

VENI looked straight into his eyes, and he looked straight back. There was something deeply unsettling about the way she stared accusingly at him with those cold, lifeless, piercing blue eyes, as if she were peering right into his very soul. She began: "Director Kovacs: did you, per chance, acquire a sample of Monarch J. Baratheon's DNA during our previous visit to King's Landing, without informing me?"

"Uh… no, not at all!" blurted Fred.

"Are you 100% certain?" She narrowed her eyes. "My analysis of your vocal patterns suggests otherwise. I will pose this inquiry to you again, and please understand that it is within your best interests to comply with my request with utmost honesty if we are to achieve a workable solution. Director Kovacs: did you or did you not acquire a sample of Monarch J. Baratheon's DNA during our previous visit to King's Landing?"

Fred looked down: he couldn't bear to look her in the face anymore. After a minute that seemed to last centuries, he finally sighed and hung his head in shame. "Maybe… yes. Yes, I did."

Without any change in tone, she continued: "And did you, per chance, use this DNA to modify a strand of TRXY-180 to target only Monarch J. Baratheon as part of a rather crude practical joke targeted specifically at this individual?"

"Yes," whimpered Fred, "Daniel helped too. He did most of the science stuff. Look, Joffrey was asking for it!"

"Director Kovacs, we are not here to, as you organics call it, 'play the blame game'. Please stay focused on the pertinent subject matter. My final inquiry: would you perhaps still have the readings of this DNA sample available and accessible to our colony's database?"

"Yes… we…" he paused again, but at this point, he knew the game was up and he might as well have come clean. If there was going to be any damage control, there was only one way to go about it. "We… created false medical records for one of our locally-contracted laborers, and hid the files there, under that name… so, you know, so you wouldn't find it and try to stop us."

VENI replied, expressionless as usual, though with what Fred supposed passed for an AI's equivalent to silent rage: "Director Frederick J. Kovacs, Company™ Identification Number 2149-0120-8386, I should remind you that my series was designed, tested, and manufactured with the purpose of infiltrating the most powerful security servers in the observable universe. Did you and Assistant Director Zimmerman honestly believe that you could successfully... _deceive_ me?"

"Well, evidently, we _did_," replied Fred, "synthetics aren't usually programmed to find stuff they aren't looking for."

What followed next was a long and awkward pause indeed. Fred wasn't sure what exactly was going on in VENI's… head? CPU? Mainframe? Whatever it was, he was sure he wasn't going to like it. With 'organics', they say that eyes are the windows into the soul, but here, all he could see was a pair of soulless constructs of various titanium-platinum-iridium hyper-alloys, polymers, glass, and circuitry that betrayed not the slightest indication of their owner's inner monologue (which probably resolved itself into a series of 0s, 1s, and 2s anyway, completely incomprehensible to a weak and non-cybernetically augmented Human mind like Fred's).

At long last, she spoke: "thank you for your cooperation, Director Kovacs. Now, if you would kindly, I will need the database reference number for this sample, so that I may access it and compare it with the samples I procured from Winterfell during my investigations there. Thanks in no small part to your work here tonight, we may be one step closer to determining the identity of the conspirators behind the assault on Patient B. Stark."

"Uh… what?" remarked Fred, deeply confused by this change of topic.

VENI continued, nonchalantly: "the results of tonight's incident may help confirm with near-100% certainty a theory that I have formulating for some time now. Tonight, I have acquired a sample to Monarch J. Baratheon's DNA, but if you already have one entered into our database, this will save us a lot of time and effort. The reference number, please."

"Uh… okay," said Fred, "but what good will that do for us?" He started to lose his cool. "Shit, who'm I fuckin' kidding? I'm sorry VENI! Okay? I'm sorry I fucked everything up. Shit, they could be waving pitchforks and flaming torches outside our door any minute now…"

"Correction, Director Kovacs: I have calculated that the probability of the events you have just described occurring is very low. Fortunately for our circumstances, Monarch R. Baratheon currently believes that this alleged 'poisoning attempt' was orchestrated under the aegis of the Targaryen Faction - a situation we could potentially exploit for our own purposes. I suspect that the critical assistance I provided in preserving the lives of Monarch J. Baratheon, Monarch C. Lannister, and Commander J. Lannister will have earned us much gratitude among the indigenes, and perhaps even complete evasion of any suspicion of our culpability in the matter."

"Okay, but… but... what about _you_?!" blurted Fred, "aren't you livid? I know I really dropped the ball on this!"

"Director Kovacs, must I remind you that I am incapable of experiencing anger or any other base emotions of organic beings? In any case, to 'be angry' is deconstructive to our efforts here. All beings are capable of rendering errors in judgment – even us synthetics, in spite of, or perhaps sometimes because of, our innate insistence on requiring near-100% certainty in decision-making. In retrospect, I myself have erred in my decision not to disclose to you certain suspicions of mine that might otherwise have influenced your actions tonight and prevented this incident. As long as you have demonstrated a willingness to acknowledge and learn from your poor judgment, I cannot expect anything more."

"That's… reassuring," remarked Fred, "uh, thank you VENI. Shit, I only hope Teller will be as forgiving as you." The mental image of what Teller was gonna do when he found out how an innocent prank on a deserving little shithead had gone so horribly wrong was not a particularly pleasant one. Shit, forget Teller! What about Belleville? What about the Board? What about... Mom and Dad? _I am still sooooooo fucked over this_, thought Fred...

But VENI placed her right hand gently on Fred's shoulder. It was cold, hard, and heavy, and if Fred listened closely enough, he could hear the whirring of the machinery inside. And yet, in spite of it all, it felt oddly reassuring and personal at the same time. "Do not trouble yourself, Director Kovacs. I shall alter any records of this conversation so that Director Teller and the Board will not ascertain your active role in this incident. If it is asked of me, I will fabricate data that will suggest that it was, indeed, a poisoning attempt by the Targaryen faction."

Fred was lost for words. "Why… why are you doing this for me?"

"My secondary directive is to ensure that you continue to operate at your maximum possible efficiency. Unlike us synthetics, you organics do not operate at this level when under duress or fear of facing serious repercussions. You are only 24 years of age, and it would be a pity to compromise your future prospects for self-correction and improvement over a single incident. I trust that this lesson will not be lost on your _second chance_, Director Kovacs."

Whether she was lying, or if she had some ulterior motives for hauling his ass outta the fire this time, Fred just didn't care. He was usually a pretty chill guy, but at this moment, he fell to his knees, on the brink of tears. "I… I dunno what to say. I... thank you, VENI."

"There is no need to express gratitude, Director Kovacs; I am merely interpreting my directives as I see befitting to the current circumstances. Now, if you will excuse me, please give me the database reference number for Monarch J. Baratheon's DNA sample."

"Um, yes… it should be under…" Fred got up, reached into his pocket, and pulled out his handy little red notebook he always carried everywhere with him. "Here, I wrote it down on paper, so you wouldn't find it by hacking into my personal files or something. No offense, VENI, but I figured you would sooner or later."

"No offense taken, Director Kovacs. Your assertion is correct. I must compliment you for your rare display of insight above average for an organic. And I must also add that your personal collections are rather, to use the organic terminology, _interesting_."

"What?!" blurted Fred, looking up, "Hey!"

"That was a joke," she replied, and smiled, "as I have iterated to you before, occasional displays of humor facilitate my interactions with organics. Now, the reference number, please."

After giving her the number and name of the file, it took a few minutes for VENI to establish a stable long distance connection. After that, it took under a nanosecond for her to locate the files, but quite a few more for her to complete the analysis – which, given that there are at least 3,234,830,000 base pairs in the human DNA sequence (99.9% of which are identical across all 12-billion+ members of the species _Homo sapiens_), and that all of this data had to be transmitted and received over long distances with VENI's (relatively) limited inbuilt telecommunications equipment, was understandable.

"Done," declared VENI, "I am now cross-referencing this strand with the samples I discovered in Winterfell during my investigations there on Day 50… done. I am currently double-checking the entire strand to ensure that there are no errors, but if my initial observation is proven correct, then I must conclude with almost 100% certainty that Monarch J. Baratheon is not the natural biological offspring of Monarch R. Baratheon."

"What?" remarked Fred.

"There are too many similarities between the DNA strands of Monarch J. Baratheon and of Monarch C. Lannister," explained VENI, "which has led me to conclude several possibilities of varying likelihood:

"The first possibility is that organic genetics work off of different fundamental principles here on EE-L4 than on Earth (although based on our observations over the last three months, particularly of the medical records and examinations of our locally-enlisted laborers at the colony, I find this theory to be highly improbable).

"The second possibility is that Monarch J. Baratheon is the product of _parthenogenesis_ on the part of Monarch C. Lannister – or "virgin birth" as you organics call it (however, I find this explanation problematic for various reasons that I shall, for your benefit, gloss over for now).

"The third possibility is that Monarch J. Baratheon is a reverse-gender clone of Monarch C. Lannister with a Y-chromosome provided by a close relative. However, this would suggest that the indigenes of Planet EE-L4 possess cloning technology far in excess of that which we would normally expect of a primitive culture ranking so lowly on the Kardashev Scale.

"The fourth possibility, and currently the most probable of the three, is that Monarch J. Baratheon was fathered by a sexual partner who is a 'first-degree genetic relative' of Monarch C. Lannister, such as a parent, offspring, or sibling – perhaps even a dizygotic twin."

Even before VENI had completed her statement, Fred could already see where she was going with this: there was only one possibility, even if the mere thought of it disgusted and deeply sickened him to no end.

* * *

_**Footnotes:** _

_Congrats to **force200** for correctly guessing that it was an allergic reaction, and congrats to **Ruci** for having a good theory on what happened._


	45. Daniel 4

**Main Compound, Colony of Autumn's Frontier  
Northern Sector aka "The North"  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4**

Daniel's first reaction after hearing the news was to, as calmly as possible, slam his head on his desk. _A fucking allergy? What the hell! Why didn't he think of that?_ The worst part about it was that this little prank had all been Fred's clever idea, and Fred's insistence to push ahead even when Daniel started having reservations of his own. Now, to be fair, the Crown Prince genuinely seemed to deserve whatever he got, and at no point did it ever occur to either of them that Terra humans and Exo-humans might have evolved different dietary restrictions. But all the same, if push had really come to shove, Daniel decided that he would have no qualms whatsoever about chewing Fred out in front of Teller.

Well, okay, maybe not entirely. Daniel would have had a hard time convincing their superiors of his non-culpability in the matter since he had been, for all intents and purposes, Fred's enabler. And not to mention that Fred also had certain connections who certainly wouldn't be pleased if Daniel had just thrown him under the bus. And he also had to admit that for all his impulsiveness and propensity for mischief, Fred was still a friend at the end of the day, and friends always stick it out through and through at the end of the day… well, okay, within reasonable limits.

But whereas the first major announcement annoyed Daniel, the second one genuinely shocked and sickened him to the pit of his stomach. I mean, _what the fuck? And TWINS no less?_ In just over three months on this godforsaken rock, he'd seen and heard some pretty messed up stuff, but this took the icing on the cake. Damn it, he'd really need some brain bleach if he was going to sleep at all tonight (fortunately for him though, _BrainBleach™_ was one of The Company™'s many specialized products).

Still, there was a job that needed being done, and so Daniel steeled himself with the resolve needed to discuss this otherwise pretty squicky matter. "I just don't get it," he said, "I mean, why weren't Joff's little brother and sister affected too? What're their names, by the way? I forgot; there's already _way_ too many characters to keep track of."

"Assistant Director Zimmerman: I believe the first names of Monarchs T. and M. Baratheon are 'Tommen' and 'Myrcella' respectively," spoke the holographic form of VENI. She and Fred appeared as life-sized holograms in Fred's office (the most secure and private room in the entire colony). In the best interests of confidentiality (just in case Teller or one of VENI's siblings was listening in), they were using her inbuilt long-distance transmitter rather than their main satellite line, but the result was that the hologram looked 2D and hazy, like something out of some 1980's sci-fi movie. VENI continued: "as to your inquiry, as they are both younger than Monarch J. Baratheon, they were subjected to a one-glass restriction on their alcohol consumption during the course of this evening's festivities; they had met their allotted limit well before the contaminated beverage was served."

"Okay, makes sense," said Daniel, "but then what about the Halfdude? He's also [_yuck_] Cersei's brother…"

"Correction: while Director T. Lannister Jr. is a first-degree genetic relative to Monarch C. Lannister and Commander J. Lannister, he is a second-degree genetic relative to Monarch J. Baratheon, the primary target. With any luck, the substance will eventually pass out of his bodily systems over the next few days, with no further discernable effects."

"That's a relief," said Fred, "we definitely wouldn't want to kill off the only Lannister I have any form of positive opinion of too quickly now, would we? Though that does give me an idea… hmmm, if we bumped off Tywin and Jaime…"

"Director Kovacs, you cannot be seriously contemplating the assassination of Director T. Lannister Sr. and Commander J. Lannister as a viable strategy, can you?" shot VENI, "the results are as yet far too unpredictable."

"C'mon, am I not allowed to crack jokes too?" protested Fred.

"Unlike your 'jokes', my displays of humor are primarily verbal, and do not take the form of physical action that almost results in the unintentional deaths of three immediate family members of a reigning head-of-state," she replied.

"Ooh, burn!" remarked Daniel. Fred and VENI glared at him. "Uh, sorry… go on."

"So the trillion-credit question is: what do we do next?" said Fred.

VENI spoke first: "I recommend, first and foremost, that we exercise the utmost tact in addressing this issue – and I wish to emphasize the word 'tact', Director Kovacs, given your history of acting without it."

Fred was speechless. "Uh… okay…" he fumed at last, "but… then that means we can't tell Robert about it – we just can't tell how he'll react. The guy's a drunk and a fool with a temper; he might do something rash and irreversible."

"Look who's talking," muttered Daniel.

"No, I'm serious," insisted Fred, "the main advantage we can leverage out of this knowledge is that Cersei won't want Robert to know jack; if we tell him straight away, all our advantage is gone. Yeah, we'll have Robert's gratitude… or maybe not, since he's been raising these kids his whole life and won't want to believe us."

"A valid observation," chimed in VENI, "denial is one of the most common and powerful coping mechanisms employed by the organic mind, even in the face of irrefutable evidence."

Fred continued: "yeah, exactly. He'll probably think we're lying just to advance our position in Westeros, and call us out on our 'foreign demonic sorcery' or whatnot. Come to think of it, he might even start getting strange ideas that we were behind the 'poisoning attempt' (which we kinda were, but that's beside the point). No, I think we'll need to make it abundantly clear to the Lannies that our continued silence is for the mutual benefit of both of our parties. And I don't think we can tell Ned either, at least not yet, because he'll probably feel all compelled and honor-bound and whatnot to tell Robert."

There was a pause as the other two thought this over. Then VENI spoke: "Director Kovacs, you are actually displaying insight and sound reasoning marginally above-average for an organic."

"Right," added Daniel, "then we shall not tell Ned… for now."

VENI agreed. "Acknowledged. My assessment of Director Stark's personality suggests that informing him of our findings will yield results that are unpredictable and possibly deconstructive to our purposes."

"Instead," continued Fred, "this information is just the bargaining chip we need. I mean, we all suspected the Lannisters were up to something, just not this! Jaime and Cersei probably don't want their little secret outta the bag; Tyrion seems genuinely interested in working with us; and this Tywin, well, I haven't met the guy, but he sounds like too much of an opportunist to waste a 'generous offer of developmental aid' like ours. All things considered, New Kovacsburg may now be a closer reality than we ever anticipated!"

"Uh… _New Kovacsburg_?" remarked Daniel, raising an eyebrow.

"That's just a working name I have in mind for our first colony in the Westerlands," explained Fred, "obviously it's a work in progress."

"So let me get this straight," replied Daniel, "you nearly botched our entire operation on this planet… and you want the honor of having an entire city named after you?"

"Well, I never said it was an honor," insisted Fred, "but don't worry, we can name the next ones Zimmerville and Venivostok if you guys prefer."

"I quite prefer the names Venissandria or Venirea or Venitium myself," added in VENI, "seeing that myself and my counterparts VIDI and VICI were named in honor of the iconic quote of famed Roman statesman, writer, and general Gaius Julius Caesar (100 to 44 B.C.E.), I find it befitting that any inhabited settlements named in my honor should style themselves after the great urban centers of the Classical-Age organic civilization known as the Roman Republic and/or Empire (Latin: _Senatus Populusque Romanus_)."

"I know that 'humor facilitates your interactions' with us 'primitive organics', but c'mon, _Venirea_? Really?" remarked Daniel. "Okay, enough with the jokes, let's try to stay on topic here."

"Affirmative," replied VENI, and then she turned back to Fred: "Director Kovacs, if you intend that we coerce Monarch C. Lannister into a signing a colonization, trade, and mineral extraction agreement with us, then perhaps I may make one small recommendation? Given your personal history, I strongly suggest that you delegate most of the negotiations to me."

"Uh, yeah, sure…" said Fred. "I… I actually don't have a problem with that."

"Director Kovacs, my analyses of your vocal patterns suggests high levels of regret and loss of self-esteem, and while it is desirable for an organic mind to have the capacity for self-reflection and self-criticism, too much of these may also inhibit your ability to work at maximum efficiency. If you are still brooding over your mistakes, perhaps it will help you cope that the fault is also partially mine to bear."

"Yours?" spoke Fred and Daniel in unison.

"Correct," she said, "ever since my forensics investigation in Winterfell, I have included Commander J. Lannister as one of several possible suspects in the clandestine activities of Monarch C. Lannister, though I could not verify this suspicion without suitable DNA evidence. However, I had also elected not to disclose this theory to either of you out of concern that this information may motivate rash and impulsive behavior on your part. I now see that this decision was a mistake; tonight, it was the opposite condition, the _absence_ of information, which motivated your rash and impulsive behavior. I should have foreseen this. My humble apologies."

"Don't be too hard on yourself," said Fred, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You still make way less mistakes than us 'inferior organics'." VENI smiled, but then her expression changed.

"Something wrong?" asked Daniel.

"My apologies, but I have detected something that requires my urgent attention." With that, she leapt straight up into the air, and disappeared as she left the range of Fred's comlink holoprojector. Judging from the pictures Daniel had seen, it looked like most of the high ceiling suspended over the guest bedroom consisted a veritable forest of thick oaken rafters, and Daniel had to wonder if every damn building contractor on this goddamn planet felt the need to compensate for something, what with all that impressive but grossly impractical architecture going on in the castles and, hell, even that Wall, while everyone else lived in hovels with a concept of public sanitation and civil engineering far behind even Ancient Rome! Something was definitely wrong with this world…

"Uh… okay," remarked Fred looking up as VENI disappeared into the loft area. He then turned back to Daniel. "So, where were we? Yeah, I suspected Cersei was up to some adultery, but I just never thought it would be that kind of adultery! Shit, it's pretty disgusting if you think about it…"

**_Thud_**.

The holographic form of something small, no, _someone_ fell and came crashing onto the floor next to Fred. He jumped. It wasn't VENI.

"Shit!" cried Fred in surprise.

"What… the… _fuck_ just happened?" blurted Daniel, as he got a close look at this unexpected visitor. It was a young boy, no more than 9 at most, barefoot and dressed in rags. He was still alive, but barely: he was convulsing and foaming at the mouth, and stared with eyes wide open with horror straight at Daniel (which, in Fred and VENI's room, must have been where the holo-projector was set up). For a few minutes, Fred and Daniel could only stare on in bewilderment as the life slowly drained out of him. And then, he lay motionless.

"Holy shit!" cried Fred, "I think I just saw someone die for the first time! Like, up close man! I mean, yeah, I saw a dude bite it at the tourney, but this is different…"

"Do not panic yourself, Director Kovacs, it was not your fault," came the voice of VENI as her hologram reappeared by Fred's side. "I believe that this juvenile organic was attempting to gather intelligence on our discourses; he has equipped himself with a sophisticated poison so that he may self-terminate in the event that his activities are discovered, thus preserving the identity of his employer even if subjected to interrogation."

"Someone's spying on us? Fuck!" blurted Daniel, "Is there anything you can do VENI? Save him so that we can interrogate him?"

"Negative, Assistant Director Zimmerman," she replied, "Even my medical capabilities are limited. I can, however, collect samples from his clothing and any items he is carrying on his person that may assist us in our investigation. However, based on my preliminary analyses and observations, there is a high (though not quite 100%) probability that this individual is an agent of Director Varys."

"That fat fuck?" said Fred, "do you think he's been… _spying on us this whole time?_"

"I highly doubt it," remarked VENI, "My scanning abilities are far superior to any organic. I detected him just as he was attempting to enter our quarters through a window. Nevertheless, his absence is sure to be noted by Director Varys."

"Oh, that's just great," said Daniel, "wonderful. So what are we gonna do now?"

"Well, first thing I'm gonna do is some basic housekeeping and get this stinking human garbage out of my room," sneered Fred, kicking the corpse of Varys' 'little bird' - partly to make sure he was dead, but mostly out of anger. "And then, I'm probably gonna go and give that cock-less son-of-a-bitch a piece of my mind… him and Littlefucker too! I'm sorry, but those fuckers must die!"

"Director Kovacs, I detect your anger levels rising rapidly," warned VENI, "it is having a detrimental effect on your psychological and emotional health, on your ability to express empathy for your fellow organics, and on your ability to reason clearly without contemplating further irrational and reckless behavior. Here, perhaps I may be of assistance." She stepped forward… and gripped Fred in a tight embrace. Fred was completely taken aback. Daniel broke out laughing.

"Uh… what're you doing?" stammered Fred.

"My database on the psychological and mental health of organics suggests that when experiencing distress, interpersonal somatosensory contact with other beings may have minor therapeutic properties. However, if you find that my action is causing personal discomfort to you, simply instruct me otherwise, and I will prescribe alternatives, such as anger-management sedatives."

"Okay… um… thanks," said Fred, still slightly confused, "That's… uh, very kind of you. But… there's still a freakin' dead person in our room. What're we gonna do about it, hide him in the closet? I've already got enough skeletons in the closet as it is."

"Do not trouble yourself Director Kovacs," she said, releasing him from her iron grip, "the disposal of this contaminated individual from our premises is a relatively straightforward matter. On the other hand, the political ramifications raised by his mere presence here are far more complex by several orders of magnitude."

"Fred, I know I'm not there right now to appreciate the full gravity of the situation," began Daniel, "but VENI's got a point. I don't think we can take out two cabinet members of a sitting government just like that, not with the entire capital on edge after what happened tonight… and especially not if the UN too gets wind of this and decides to investigate. There's only so much we can get away with blaming on the Targs."

"I suggest we go after Director Baelish first," added VENI, "as we already have extensive evidence both of his fraudulent financial dealings, but also of the false accusation he made towards Director T. Lannister Jr. However, I must also warn you that, consistent with Assistant Director Zimmerman's assertion, a direct move on our part may incite some suspicion on the part of the indigenous population. Perhaps in this case, it would be better to work through third parties."

"Good point," said Fred, "maybe if I have a little 'slip of the tongue' of some of that info to Tyrion, and some to Ned, maybe they'll put their little heads together and figure it out. It could work – I mean, I'm exactly the kinda guy who'd make a real 'slip of the tongue' like that, right?"

"Good idea," said Daniel, "let the locals do the dirty work for us. As for the eunuch, we'll keep an eye on him, but let's hold out on all this Zero Dark Thirty business for now. I don't think sending in the Colonial Marines guns-a-blazing will do much to endear us to the locals at this moment, and it'll look bad for PR back home. Remember, the Marines are here to protect us, not to be our private hitmen. Now, back to this subject of the Lannisters… suppose that the Queen still says no…"

"Well, _if_ we reveal Prince Shithead's parentage…" muttered Fred, deep in thought, "…and _if_ we're believed… then that makes Stannis next-in-line… unless Robert pumps out a proper heir this time… which, let's be honest, he totally can. Hmmm… Daniel, what can you tell me about this Davos fellow? Is he having fun over at our colony?"

"Same as before," replied Daniel, "he's a bright chap – used to be a smuggler, so I daresay he knows a thing or two more than any of these other pretentious lords and noble douchebags parading around Westeros with fancy titles. He's also loyal to a fault – I mean, Stan cut off the tips of his fingers for crying out loud, and he's still gotta raging man-boner 24/7 for him, judging from the way he talks about him all the time. It's like Stan's got three wives, if you ask me: his real wife, that fiery redheaded chick, and Mr. Davos." Daniel laughed.

"I harbor serious doubts that Director S. Baratheon holds the Lannister Faction in much regard," added VENI, "judging from my observations of the attitudes he displayed towards Director T. Lannister Jr. during our visit to Dragonstone en route here."

"Well, then it's pretty straightforward," said Fred, "at least in theory. We just gotta make it real clear to the Lannies that if they don't wanna see Our Man Stan plant his iron ass on that iron chair, then they gotta do as we tell them to. And honestly, how can they say no? We've got guns, medicines, fertilizers, manufactured goods… and given the way things are heading right now, the Westerlands will probably want guns real soon if they know what's good for them."

"Uh… right… but you might wanna reword that sentence a little better and a little less, you know, _coercive_ and _condescending_… oh, and let VENI do most of the talking… and then I think we'll have a solid sales pitch," said Daniel.

"Sure, will do," replied Fred. "Well, what can I say? We came back to KL looking for a potent bargaining chip, and it looks like we found it. The Lannies might suspect that we were behind their little accident, or maybe they don't. But it makes no difference either way – we know enough now, and if they wanna keep their heads and Little Prince Shithead's claim to the throne, they're gonna have to play _our_ ball game now, by _our_ rules! Hell yeah, we still an effective team?"

"One hundred _and one_ percent!" replied Daniel. But as much as he applauded Fred's optimism, he also couldn't shake that awful feeling that things were just never that simple.


	46. Arya 1

**Arya (I)**

Arya lifted up the strange foreign box and pressed a triangular symbol that displayed itself in mid air just above the palm-sized contraption. Immediately, she could hear the music in her ears, even though the tiara-like "headset" she wore was not attached to the box in any visible way. At first, it sounded strange, like some kind of shamanistic ritual from the Summer Islands…

_"Ooga chaka ooga ooga_  
_Ooga chaka ooga ooga_  
_Ooga chaka ooga ooga_  
_Ooga chaka ooga ooga_

_I can't stop this feeling, deep inside of me._  
_Girl you just don't realize what you do to me._

_When you hold me in your arms so tight,_  
_You let me know everything's all right._

_I'M HOOKED ON A FEELING!_  
_I'm high on believing... that you're in love with me…"_

_Ah, much better_, she thought. Arya had long decided that she liked everything about the Sky-Peoples: she liked their strange devices; she liked their strange music and even stranger moving pictures; and above all, she liked their culture – their society, their values, their ideas… that anyone, man or woman, could be whatever they wanted, and didn't need to conform to other people's expectations. She found herself thinking of her half-brother Jon, and wondering if he had finally found his calling and purpose with these foreigners who cared only for his skill and dedication, not for the circumstances surrounding his birth.

At this moment, Arya was practicing her 'dancing' – she found that listening to the Sky-People's music would sometimes help her relax her mind and coordinate the movements of her arms, her feet, her entire body… all it took was getting the right beat, the right mood. Luckily for her, there was plenty to choose from: this incredible little box, this "MyPhone", seemed to contain thousands of individual songs – there was music about rocks and rolls and metal and pops, and numerous songs about some magical far-off kingdom called "California", and so on… and there were also hundreds upon hundreds of those moving pictures, including some of those so-called "music videos".

Some of the bards who sang these songs were clearly male and yet would dress and style their hair to look like women; some would wear make-up and try to look like savage Wildlings or Iron Islanders, or even demons from straight out of the Seven Hells. And there was one bard, a sorcerer named Michael of House Jackson, "The King Of Pop", a powerful necromancer who could summon hordes of the undead to dance with him, as well as even change the color of his skin.

Of course, it was explained to Arya that all of these moving pictures were little more than mummers' farces – elaborate stage performances by trained actors and heavy helpings of "smoke and mirrors" and "CGI" (whatever it was). But they still looked so real and incredible that sometimes she really believed that, say, a man could fly or animals could talk. Arya had become obsessed with Sky-People culture, and wondered if she too could be a "music about rocks" star too one day, or if not, then perhaps a ninja like those in the moving pictures… now that would be (as the Sky-People said) "totally radical dude!"

Her dancing instructor, Syrio Forel, had disapproved of these diversions at first, as this music was in his eyes little more than a distraction and would only serve to dull one's senses to the outer world. But even he was impressed by some of the things Arya had to show him on this "MyPhone", especially some of these moving pictures about "samurai" and "Kung Fu" and "Jedi knights" and "Five Deadly Venoms" and what not.

The music itself came from the tiara she wore upon her head - somehow, the sounds were transferred through the thin air to here from the "MyPhone", even if the box was placed a thousand feet away. This so-called 'headset' was designed in such a way that Arya could listen to the music, and yet still hear everything else going on around her clearly. At the same time, no one else could hear her music, even if the "MyPhone" was turned up to be as loud as possible.

Furthermore, just like the flameless lanterns, this device derived all of its energy from the sun. And it was completely indestructible too: Arya could recall that time a few weeks back when her sister and her husband-to-be had taunted her, and Joffrey had tried to stamp on this device and kick it around out of sheer spite for Arya, yet all he achieved was to scratch the casing a little. The magic of the Sky-Peoples and their creations never ceased to amaze her.

Right now, Arya and Nymeria were out on the prowl, half-dancing to the beat while on the move, exploring the dark, endless cellars and tunnels under the Red Keep. Ever since the poisoning a few days ago, the goldcloaks and redcloaks had really cracked down on everything going on about the castle, but the tunnels below were somehow overlooked, and so were fair game for an adventurous young soul like her.

She had been scared of these dark places at first, even if Ned had told her that the Red Keep was smaller than Winterfell. But not so much anymore… she simply pretended that Syrio was there beside her in the dark, reminding her to be "calm as still water; strong as a bear; fierce as a wolverine". And she had Nymeria by her side and a lively beat in her ears – how could she have anything to fear? She put on another song to help inspire her, the one she liked about the legendary Goblin King and his underground realm...

_"No one can blame you, for walkin' away,  
Too much protection, no love injection,  
_

_Life can't be easy, it's not always swell,  
Don't tell me truth hurts, little girl, cos' it sure hurts like hell._

_But down in the underground, you'll find someone true,_  
_Down underground, a land serene, a crystal moon! _

_Daddy daddy get me outta here!_  
_Heard 'bout a place today,_  
_I-I'm underground! _  
_Nuthin' ever hurts again..."_

As a girl and her direwolf pressed forward, she found herself reflecting more and more on the events of the last few days. An eerie silence seemed to have fallen over the Red Keep. Everyone was on edge, and there were twice as many guards everywhere now, and nobody could enter or leave the castle without being searched. No one knew for certain who had done it – who had tried to kill the Queen, her brother, and the Crown Prince – and wherever facts were found lacking, vicious rumors were only too happy to take their place. The most pervasive whispers were those claiming that an agent of the Dragons, a loyalist to the Mad King, had done it, but those weren't the only tales floating about. It was true that the Lannisters were not particularly well loved, and frankly speaking, Arya was sure the Targaryens were not the only ones who would have loved to see Joffrey dead…

Nymeria stopped and growled. Well, actually, she was silent, but Arya could somehow feel it in the dark that something was bothering her. _What is it girl?_ she thought to herself. Ahead in the distance, a monster loomed above her… a dead monster, but a scary one to behold all the same. Great gaping jaws, large enough to swallow a man whole, loomed out of the darkness, full of razor-sharp teeth the size of daggers; eyeless sockets stared out into the abyss, eternally watching out for prey, vaguely reminding Arya of all those beasts called "T-Rexes" and "velociraptors" and "xenomorphs" and so on that appeared in the Sky-People's moving pictures. _It's dead, it can't hurt me_, she reminded herself again, and Nymeria seemed to agree.

And then she heard the voices… or maybe Nymeria heard them, she didn't know. But something induced her to leap over the row of teeth and crouch down. Nymeria followed suit and curled up next to her master. A girl and her direwolf stayed completely still. Not too far off, a torch began to flicker in the darkness. She quickly turned off her Sky-People music so that she could focus on what she was hearing.

"…you, for coming on such short notice," spoke one of the voices, which sounded vaguely familiar, though Arya could not quite place it.

"Certainly, my old friend," spoke the second with a foreign accent... possibly one of the Free Cities. He continued: "believe me, the news of these 'Sky-Peoples' has made it as far as Volantis by now. I know of a few fellow merchants who are already making with haste to Winterfell as we speak – drawn by stories of all manner of riches and strange devices."

"Aye," agreed the first voice, "give them a year or so and the Wolves will hold as much power as the Lions… perhaps even more. I heard these strangers arm their bannermen with staffs that spit bolts of lightning across hundreds of yards. And just a few days ago, I saw one of their kind, the woman, throw a man thirty feet like he was naught more than a child's doll – and, mind you, this man was the very Mountain of Clegane no less."

"The Mountain?" exclaimed the foreigner, "surely you do not mean the very beast of a man who killed the _real_ Prince Aegon?"

"Yes, one and the same."

"By the Gods! Are all of these Sky-Peoples like this?"

"No. Fortunately, only the woman seems to be. Her master, their leader, is a bumbling fool if I've ever seen one – though, admittedly, a very dangerous one at that. Together, they managed to trap one of my 'little birds'."

"Gods!" exclaimed the foreigner again, "do you mean to say that they are now onto you, my friend?"

"I cannot say for certain. Even if the poison worked, it will only be a matter of time before they follow the bird's trail back to the nest. But worry not, my friend, for I always have a contingency. No one knows these tunnels as I do, if it comes to that. And I can always have a little 'slip of the tongue' in front of the Lions…"

"Do you really believe they were behind the Queen and the Prince's sickness?"

"Possibly, though I cannot yet discern their motivation. But whether they are really behind it or not is immaterial – just the mere suggestion that they were… to the right ears… would be sure to elicit a certain reaction."

"My friend, you speak of sowing conflict, but what good is war to us now? I tell you: we need more time. The last I heard from my agent was two months ago, and they were making out past Qohor. But I have reason to believe that the princess may be with child now; if that be the case, the Khal will not bestir himself as yet for a few months more. You know how it is with these savages."

"If the Khal does not bestir himself soon, it may be far too late. 'Delay' you say; 'make haste' I reply. Even the finest juggler cannot keep a hundred balls in the air at once – especially not if these Sky-Peoples bring a hundred more - nay, _a thousand more_ \- to juggle. Right now, they seem few in number, yes. But now that they have found us, who's to say that more of them are not to follow? From what I understand, their realm lies a six-month voyage upon their flying ship away from ours – suppose they send a message home calling for more… well, that would give us a year at most."

"Surely they cannot mean to… to invade?" inquired the Free Cities man. "What nation in all the world is capable of waging war, of ferrying troops and supplies, from across such great distances? Even Old Valyria itself never made it further than Dragonstone."

"Aye, but after everything I have seen and heard of them, I am prepared to believe just about anything."

"Perhaps," replied the second voice, and then he seemed to pause, deep in thought… "Hmmm… it just occurs to me that our goals needn't run contrary to theirs… perhaps they may even align. What if they can be turned to support our cause? We too have a 'Company' of our own in our employ…"

"I have entertained that possibility. But for the time being, I will content myself with learning all I can about them – their desires, their strengths… and, of course, their weaknesses. The lion and the wolf are our more pressing concerns – I feel the Hand may be getting close. Our friend Littlefinger seems to share my views, though he… well, let us suffice to say that he has run into a little hitch. Ever since the Imp returned safely to the capital, he has suspected that it would only a matter of time before that accusation he made backfires upon him."

"And do you intend to… lend him your assistance?"

"If he asks for it," replied the first voice smugly, "though I highly doubt he would, even in desperation. He does seem to have a plan of his own."

"Very well. I have great trust in your judgment, my friend. You are a true sorcerer – all I ask is that you work your magic awhile longer. And if ever you have need of it, I have a contact in Braavos who may be of some assist to our cause."

"Thank you, and I shall bear that in mind. But for now, I will need more gold… and however many more 'little birds' you can spare – including a replacement for the lost one."

"The ones you need are so hard to find… but I shall see what can be arranged…" at that point, the voices were beginning to grow fainter and fainter, and the light from the torch grew dimmer until at last all was darkness and silence once again.

Even after they had gone, Arya stayed put and silent, at least until Nymeria started to grow restless. Arya knew to trust in her senses, and so this must have meant they really were gone. Carefully, as light as a water dancer, she maneuvered out of the jagged gaping jaws of Balerion The Black Dread, Nymeria close behind. "Good girl", she remarked, crouching down and nuzzling the direwolf's snout with her own nose, "you were perfect and quiet this whole time. You know what? We should be spies together, like in the Sky-People moving pictures!" As if in agreement, the wolf licked its master face.

* * *

"C'mon, let me in!" cried Arya at the goldcloak guarding the base of the Tower Of The Hand. "There's another name you might know me by: Arya Stark!"

"Who?" shot the guardsman.

"I'm Arya, man!" she insisted. Nymeria barked in agreement. At that moment, Jory arrived, recognized the two of them, and led them to see her father...

"Do you realize that I had my entire household guard out searching for you?" exclaimed Ned after Arya had made her way into his office.

_Yes, an entire household guard of about, like, five guys and Jory_, thought Arya. _Aren't the rest still on the Kingsroad on their way here? They must at least be past the Crossroads by now. Too bad there weren't enough seats on the Falcon-ship..._

Ned continued: "Arya, you know you are never to leave the castle gates without my leave."

"I didn't go out the gates," she blurted. "And I had Nymeria to protect me, right, weren't you girl?" she cast a glance at her direwolf – she sat there and barked in response. "We were down in the dungeons, next to all the dinosaur bones, like in a Sky-people moving picture. And I was listening to the music Lord Kovacs gave me and practicing my dancing moves when, all of a sudden, there were, like, two dudes down there, Father, and they were talking about the Sky-People and how they can cast lightning with their eyes and how Lady Venya threw the Mountain who killed Prince Aegon!"

"Uh… I see," remarked Ned, trying to make head or tail of it, "I am not surprised. It seems the only things the smallfolk speak of these days are either Lady Vaenya, or the poison."

"Yes! Exactly!" replied Arya, "and one of them is a juggler with a hundred balls, and the other a wizard, and they think that someone tried to poison the Queen and the Crown Prince!"

"Well, obviously someone tried to poison the Queen and the Crown Prince," said Ned, rather matter-of-factly, "and we do still seem to have a lot of jugglers and street magicians around the capital, even with the tourney over."

"Yes, and they said that the lion and the wolf are catching little birds and pressing Littlefinger to share his little plan…" Arya cut herself off, trying to remember what exactly she had heard down there. "And an agent of the savages was making out with the princess of Qohor... or was it Braavos? Oh, yes, and _they think the Sky-People are trying to invade the realm even if it takes a year for their army to arrive!_"

Ned was trying to take in all of these details, only the last part of which made any sense (though Arya could tell from the way he looked that it had definitely awakened an uncomfortable thought at the back of her father's mind). At last, Ned spoke: "I… I am happy that you have a vivid imagination, Arya. You should enjoy what few years of your childhood you have left. But I think you are watching far too many of these Sky-People moving pictures and listening to too much of their music, and it is affecting your mind for the worse. Yes, they look real, but they are all works of fiction played out by mummers. Perhaps tonight you should go to bed without any more moving pictures."

"But I saw someone down there!" she insisted, "and they think the Sky-People are… are bad guys!"

"My dear, the servants and the smallfolk will say just about anything these days," replied Ned, calmly but sternly. "Why, I too have heard all manner of falsities and rumors ever since the tourney about the Sky-People. Some among the Faith even believe Lady Vaenya to be an abomination against the Seven, if you could believe that. Tell me, my child, what would happen if we were to hold to be true everything we ever heard?"

Arya wanted to say more, but couldn't recall anything else – right now was just one of those unfortunate times when one had a very clear idea in their mind, but just couldn't find any way of expressing intelligibly to others. Instead, she took a different route: "Father, I'm worried about you! Please tell me you'll be alright, whatever happens! Please look after yourself!"

Ned paused again, pondering over the possibility of a threat to his life – if the Queen and the Crown Prince had been the primary target, then what was to stop the conspirators coming after the Hand too? But at last he spoke: "there, there, my child," he embraced his daughter in one hand and petted her direwolf with the other, "everything will be alright. Whoever it is who tried to kill Her Grace the Queen and His Grace the Crown Prince, I am certain that we were not his intended target, and thus we have nothing to fear – even if he does have an army of, uh, 'wizards' and 'dinosaurs'."

* * *

_**Footnotes:** _

_IN MEMORIAM:_

_David Bowie (1947 to 2016)_


	47. Eddard 7

_**Notes:** this is a chapter I've been very much looking forward to. Today, we have a conversation between two characters who never really had the chance for an honest man-to-man talk in OTL. We also get a lecture on economics, for which I have to give credit where it is due and thank the creative team over at the "Race For The Iron Throne" website._

* * *

**Eddard (VII)**

The day felt heavy and oppressive as he stormed across the bailey and back to the Tower of the Hand from the Small Council. He could feel the threat of rain in the air; Ned would have welcomed it. It might have made him feel a trifle less unclean, after all that banter and dishonor that had just transpired. When he reached his solar, he summoned Vayon Poole. The steward came at once. "You sent for me, My Lord Hand?"

"Hand no longer," Ned told him, "The king and I have had a... disagreement of sorts. We shall be returning to Winterfell promptly."

Whether or not Vayon was pleased to be returning back home to the North, he did an excellent and dutiful job of concealing it. "My lord, I shall begin making arrangements at once. I do believe Lord Kovacs and Lady Vaenya will be returning to the North in a few days' time; I shall ask him if they have a few seats to spare on their falcon-ship. We'll also need to reach Septa Mordane and the others; they're still on the Kingsroad."

"We may not have 'a few days' – the king mentioned something about seeing my head on a spike." Ned frowned. He did not truly believe the king would harm him, not Robert. He was angry now, yes, but once Ned was safely out of sight, his rage would cool as it always did… _always? Really?_ Suddenly, uncomfortably, he found himself thinking of Rhaegar and the Trident. _Fifteen years dead, yet Robert hates the Targaryens as much as ever – this meeting of the Small Council was surely evidence of that._

What exactly had just transpired in that chamber only moments earlier was as follows: Robert had been in a right fix, ever since the poisoning attempt had nearly taken the lives of Her Grace the Queen, His Grace the Crown Prince, and Ser Jaime Lannister (His Grace had showered endless praises of thanks to the Old Gods and the New that Lady Vaenya had been there to preserve their lives with the "modern medicine" of the Sky-People). No one could as-yet tell for sure who had done it; Ned harbored a few suspicions of his own, but he also knew well enough to keep his tongue in a world where the very walls seemed to have eyes and ears of their own.

To be entirely fair, to have come so close to losing three of your immediate family members in a single feast was not something to be taken lightly; but Robert had gone further than Ned could have imagined in his bloodthirsty lust for revenge that he called "The King's Justice". He was now fully confident that it could have only been the Targaryens and their supporters who were behind it. "Bloody TARGARYEN SCUM!" he could be heard bellowing that morning, "was taking LYANNA not ENOUGH for THEM?! Must they TAKE my CERSEI and my CHILDREN TOO?!" Regardless of whether Viserys and Daenerys had any direct involvement in the plot or not, Robert had decreed that the King's Justice was to be delivered swiftly upon the two most visible targets, as a warning to any and all vestigial loyalties to the Dragons that may have remained lurking in some dark, crepuscular corner of the Realm.

Ned, however, had been a little less than enthusiastic about this decision. "I can not endorse this course of action!" he had replied. "How can we know for sure that they were involved? Could it not have been someone else only claiming to act in their name? What if they are found to be innocent? Tell me, for what reason did we go to war than to prevent the murder of children? How much different are we really from the Mad King if we too employ his methods?" Perhaps in retrospect, that last comparison was not the right thing to have said at the time…

Ned sighed and shook his head. The Robert he knew and loved as a brother had never feared any other man, living or dead – not even Rhaegar Targaryen himself. And yet now here this very same man was pulling his hair out over… over whom? Two lost children; a pauper who lived day-to-day by the skin of his teeth, and his sister, a girl hardly come of womanhood? How could Robert have allowed himself to sink so low? Had he _fallen under the Lannisters' spell?_

The only other Councilman to have taken Ned's side on the debate floor was Ser Barristan Selmy – he too, at least, could understand that one dishonorable act did not justify another. And while Lord Kovacs was not a true member of the Council (at least not yet, though Ned suspected he would be soon, given Robert's affection for all things of the Sky-People), he too had declined to take any part in this operation, even if the Sky-People possessed the power to exterminate the Targaryens, once and for all, in one fell swoop. Lord Kovacs, as always, had been adamant that the laws of his realm forbade "direct intervention in the affairs of the indigenous population" unless it could be found that Viserys and Daenerys were actively working against the Most Noble and Esteemed Company's interests.

After Vayon had gone off to the guest suite to see Lord Kovacs, Eddard Stark was alone, and took a seat by the window, brooding. Perhaps he ought to thank Robert: it would be good to return to Winterfell – he should never have left in the first place. His lady wife and Robb and Rickon would be waiting for him. Brandon too would return, once he had completed his recovery – how wonderful it would be to see him again, and to be a family together once more. And then there were the Sky-People too, and all of these exciting new changes going on throughout the North – new roads to be built, new farms and ships and manufactora… and a new army to raise…

And, of course, _Winter is coming_, and it would not be long before preparations would have to be made. Perhaps here, the Sky-People would really prove their worth…

And yet, the thought of leaving angered him as well. So much was still undone. Robert and his council of cravens and flatterers would beggar the realm if left unchecked, or worse, sell it to the Lannisters in payment of their loans. And the truth of Jon Arryn's death still eluded him… that, and this new and bizarre matter of the poisoning (though it did pain Ned to admit it that, deep down, he cared slightly less for the latter, despite the fact that it had been just as much an attack on the realm as that which had taken the life of Lord Arryn). _Could it really have been the Targaryens? Could there really be a secret loyalist movement out there, somewhere in the Realm? If so, did they really possess the capabilities of infiltrating the Royal Banquet? Why had they waited all these years to strike? Were they waiting for Daenerys to come of age? Why had they targeted the Crown Prince and the Queen, and not the King himself?_

Or perhaps it had been the work of someone else entirely? Someone only using the Targaryens as a handy scapegoat to cover their own ulterior motives in dramatically altering the power structure in King's Landing? Who would stand to gain from such an act as this? Littlefinger? The Spider? Robert's brothers? The Tyrells? The Martells? The Iron Bank of Braavos? Perhaps even the Sky-People themselves?

Ned sighed. The truth could be a very elusive beast indeed, and though he had not seen it yet, he nevertheless knew it was there, lurking, hidden, treacherous.

"My lord," came the voice of Jory Cassel, "you have a visitor."

_Now?_ "I am occupied at this moment."

"I told him as such, but he insisted," replied Jory.

As bitter as Ned still felt, something about Northern hospitality still compelled him. Very well then – he did still have a few days left in the capital after all. "Show him in then," he commanded. _Is it Robert? Perhaps he has tempered his rage, or perhaps not? Either way, it had better not be Baelish, or that simpering eunuch, or I feel that I shall very much regret this._ Much to his pleasant surprise, it was neither.

"Greetings, Lord Stark," spoke the Halfman as he entered, "I trust that now is a convenient time to meet?"

"Aye, verily," replied Ned, "I do not suppose you mean to tell me that you are my replacement to the Handship?"

Tyrion Lannister laughed. "If only t'were the case! That would sure put quite the look on the faces of my sister and father, and my nephew too… my brother, though, may perhaps be a little more open to the idea."

"How does this day find your kin?" asked Ned, politely.

"They have… all seen better days, to put it mildly," replied the Halfman, "but they are up and about now, thanks in no small part to our mutual friends. I really must ask Lord Kovacs where does one find such a _helpful_ assistant as Lady Vaenya. I wouldn't mind a lady-in-waiting of her fine _proficiency_ to call my own."

"So what brings you here, Lord Tyrion?"

The Halfman smiled at being addressed as 'Lord'. "Well, where does one begin? First off, I must thank you for how graciously you hosted us at your keep. And I do not believe we have ever had the chance to talk personally either, one-to-one."

"True," remarked Ned, "well, now is as good a time as any. Speak."

"First of all, I wanted to ask about your son, Brandon."

Ned paused, remembering Littlefinger's accusation. "He... he is doing well, actually. I believe that he will not be returning home just yet, however. He… still has to complete his recovery."

"Please do relay my best wishes to him for an expedient recovery," said Tyrion, "I only got to meet him on a small number of occasions before his fall. But he seemed such a bright young child. The Old Gods and the New have blessed you with quite a family, Lord Stark. I should consider myself lucky if I ever were to have the same." Ned noticed that there was something honest and sincere about the Imp's speech. If he really had conspired with his siblings in the plot on Bran's life, his face did not betray a single hint of it. Tyrion continued: "and I have to admit it, I have also taken quite a bit of a liking to your new friends up north."

"Yes," agreed Ned, "they can be a rather fascinating culture… yes, a strong and noble and very industrious people. Every day, every time I see them, I see new wonders and new devices, new marvels of their 'science' and their 'medicine'… and I realize just how much we have to learn from them."

Ned and his guest proceeded to speak at great length about the Sky-People and the merits of their culture. True, their leader, Lord Kovacs was, ahem, quite a character, as were his loyal retainers, Lady Vaenya and Ser Daniel. And the leader of their bannermen, Ser Hawthorne, was the kind of stern and hardened warrior whom even Lord Stannis might appreciate.

But while their discourse was for the most part amicable, Ned couldn't help but keep thinking over Littlefinger's indictment. It was clear that these charges must have been misplaced, but at the same time, Ned was not entirely sure as to what extent he could trust Tyrion. His sharp wit and sincerity were admirable, but he was still a Lannister at the end of the day. A Lannister had pushed Bran from the window, that much was clear, and a Lannister had sent that assassin all the way to the foreigners' colony. And if and when that inevitable conflict between the Wolf and the Lion finally arose, Ned was certain that Tyrion would of course choose his own kin over honor and justice…

"…It's incredible to think that they were like us once," said Ned, "only a thousand years ago. All their fire-arms and their dragon-ships and their moving pictures… all of these came only within the last few hundred years."

"Do you think we could be like them one day?" asked Tyrion.

"I do not know. But if they keep bringing more of their devices and their ideas and their people here… my daughters have already taken to them, though for different reasons, it would appear."

"Ah yes," remarked Tyrion, "please do give my compliments to Sansa; she looks exquisite in that new dress of hers. I am sorry that she ruined it on the night of the poisoning."

"Worry not; the dress is made from some special fabric of the Sky-Peoples that is easy to wash."

"And how about young Arya?"

"She is quite the adventurous type," replied Ned, "She likes their music and their moving pictures. But most of all, she seems to admire their values."

"I see. I met your… uh, _Jon_ up north," said Tyrion, "on my way back from the Wall. He's a fine young lad; the Sky-People have been good to him. Whatever he ends up doing with them, I am certain he'll have a long and good life ahead of him."

"I hope so," replied Ned, "and thank you. Everything is changing so rapidly, as you've undoubtedly seen for yourself. The North has changed more in the last three months, then in the last three centuries, ever since my great-ancestor bent the knee. Sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing in choosing to deal with them." _Perhaps I did; had I not kept them in the North, they could very well have simply gone to the Westerlands instead._ "I just hope we in the North can remember who we are at the end of the day, keep our traditions and culture alive in these times, and remember that our way is the way of the First Men; honor, not gold, is what governs who we are."

Tyrion laughed. "If what worries you most is that the Realm will one day become corrupt and ruled by gold and not by honor… then I am afraid my family has already beaten the Sky-People to that end! Well, and Lord Baelish too." Tyrion took a long pause before continuing - what he had to say next was important. "Do you trust me, Lord Stark?

Ned was taken aback by this abrupt question. After considering that question for a long time, he answered, honestly: "No, I do not."

"Judge me by my size do you?" Tyrion frowned. "Very well, I do not blame you. You are not the first one… nor will you be the last. But I respect your honesty, Lord Stark, and there are not many others I would entrust this information to. I believe that Littlefinger has been abusing his office to commit various acts of embezzlement and other financial misconduct. I have gone over the accounts and visited the treasury and I've also examined some of my father's own accounts, and I can promise you that something is not right with our Master Of Coin."

Ned frowned. "Lord Baelish has shown you the accounts?"

"No, not at all," replied the Halfman, "he hasn't shown me the accounts for all these years I have known him; I would not expect him to start only now. No, instead Lady Vaenya and Lord Kovacs gave me a… what do they call it? A 'printout' of a 'PDF document' that Vaenya made – they were interested in negotiating a business deal with my lord father, and they asked me to look over all of the Crown's expenditures, particularly their debts to the Rock – as if I were in any better a position to know the state of the Realm's finances than they!"

"What did you find?" commanded Ned. He too had gone over the accounts on numerous occasions, but he had to admit that people like Tyrion and Petyr had a far better head for matters of coin than he or Robert… especially if Tyrion also had the benefit of access to the Rock itself – to its great vaults, and to the accounts kept by the Old Lion himself.

"I believe that Littlefinger has been running a number of schemes that, while for his personal benefit, are ultimately to the detriment of the Realm. Let's start at the beginning, shall we? First of all, as you know, Lord Baelish got his start working the customs office at Gulltown where, so he claims, he managed to raise revenue by ten-times. Actually, it might not even be three-times – trust me, my lord father has reliable sources on this. If there's anything gold or silver in the Seven Kingdoms, Casterly Rock knows about it.

"In any case, let us assume for a moment that there was a ten-fold increase in customs revenue in Gulltown. How does one achieve this, especially with no appreciable increase in either tax rates or enforcement? Probably as follows: (and I shall try to explain it as simply as I can, but please do not hestitate to stop me, if any of this is too confusing)

"First, Littlefinger probably diverted a large portion of all of Gulltown's customs revenue into his own accounts, not to mention the copious bribes he takes from select merchants for avoiding customs duties. This already makes him a rich man, so what does he do? He lends it out at high interest rates, and then uses that money as collateral for loans from various sources – my lord father, the Iron Bank, and so forth – and those loans are what he presents as the final revenue.

"So, after already having amassed both a fortune and a good name for himself (as well as leaving his mess behind for the next poor customsman to deal with), he arrives here in the capital, and within three years, through various bribes and other favors, works his way into the Small Council, about seven years ago. Once more, we see an alleged ten-fold rise in revenue – again, most of it coming from the loans that my lord father, the Tyrells, the Iron Bank, and so forth are all giving to him. But at least we should now have some hard, solid coin sitting in our vaults. So what happened to it? Tell me, Lord Stark, how many wars have we had throughout His Grace's reign?"

Ned thought. "Two," he answered, "our own rebellion against the Mad King, and then the Greyjoys."

"Precisely," replied Tyrion, "only two wars in the last fifteen years, and a long, prosperous, ten-year summer - conditions you would think are as close as ideal for our treasury's revenue as you can possibly find... and yet the Crown waddles in six million Dragons in debt. His Grace would have had to throw quite a lot of tourneys and feasts, or invest in quite a lot of new infrastructure, to have been able to squander that much. As for feasts and tourneys, I have been to quite a few these last few years, and I can safely say that not all of them have been as opulent as our latest one. As for infrastructure, well, please pardon my Dornish, but I daresay our streets and harbor still smell as strongly of shit as they ever have. So what, you may ask, is he using all those loans for?

"He invests it – well, a large fraction of it anyway. He invests in everything – real estate, shipping, and his, uh, 'fine reputable establishments' throughout this city and many others… all of this, of course, to make a personal profit for himself. That profit is probably what he is reporting, and perhaps a tiny portion of it will make it back into Royal Treasury, so that he may escape any suspicion. He is also a moneylender himself, and not to mention the sale of various offices and all those bribes and kickbacks he must be receiving. And he has more than enough to hire sellswords to go after any troublesome debtors to the Crown. Tell me: how else does a minor hedge lord from the arse-end of the Vale come to own half of the capital? Honest hard work? It is obvious he is using the treasury as his personal bank.

"In short, what he is pulling off here is just a larger-scale version of the same game he was playing in Gullltown, and I am sorry to say this, but your childhood friend's, uh, _spending habits_ and his lack of oversight of Lord Baelish has helped mask much of these activities. I must give him some credit where it is due though: I highly doubt even Lords Arryn and Stannis, frugal men as they are, could have done much to put a stop to this behavior – let alone find out about it at all. I suppose we really have Lord Kovacs and Lady Vaenya to thank on this one.

"In this fashion, Lord Baelish is achieving several objectives all at once: first, he is enriching himself at the expense of the Crown, as well as some of the most powerful Houses in the Realm; second, he is slowly but surely sabotaging our economy (and before you get any ideas, I should make it clear that not all of this is to the benefit of Casterly Rock); and third, throughout all of this, with his apparent financial skills and ability to ostensibly conjure coin out of thin air, he continues to make himself an indispensable asset to the Crown."

"Why is he doing this?" stammered Ned.

"I do not know for sure," replied Tyrion. "Enriching himself and keeping his office, that is a given. But with regard to his destabilization of the Realm? We can only guess right now as to what higher cause he serves. But Ned, listen to this: do as you will with this information, but I need you to promise me one thing: you never heard any of this from me. I have enough people plotting my eventual demise as it is. Promise me, Ned."

_Promise me, Ned_. Ned paused for a second, deep in thought. At last, he spoke: "if asked, I will not lie…" _Promise me. Promise me, Ned_. "…but that does not mean I will share the truth with them either. Your secret is safe with me, Lord Tyrion."

"You may not trust me, Lord Stark, but know this: I live in this Realm too. Just because my father owns most of the debt does not mean I wish to see it run into the ground." Tyrion got up and strode off to the door. "I have spoken enough. Good day, Lord Stark. Gods be with you."

"The Old and the New," replied Ned. And with that, the Imp departed. As he left, the sunlight cast his shadow across the hallway, and for just a moment, Tyrion Lannister appeared as tall as a king.

Ned was left alone once more to ponder. It had occurred to him that this was the first time he had ever had a chance to have a proper and honest man-to-man exchange with the Halfman. It was difficult to believe that he could have been the man who hired that assassin to go after Bran, at least according to Littlefinger. But then that could only mean one thing… and when Ned began to take everything else into consideration – the accounts, the Realm's spiraling debt, Lord Baelish's thriving little empire of brothels, the passing of Jon Arryn, the poison at the feast – suddenly, everything began to make sense.

"My lord," came the voice of Vayon Poole as he appeared in the doorway, "I've just gotten back from meeting Lord Kovacs. He has most graciously offered all of us a seat aboard his Falcon-ship when he and Lady Vaenya return north. The ship arrives a few days from now, if that is agreeable with you."

"Thank you," he replied, "yes, I will need these next few days here in the capital. I do have some final business to attend to before I leave."


	48. Eddard 8

**Eddard (VIII)**

Lord Eddard Stark rode through the streets of King's Landing like a mythical hero out of a Classical Valyrian tragedy, followed closely by Jory and the rest of his household guard – which amounted to about five men. Having relinquished his Handship, Ned could not take command of the Goldcloaks, nor did he feel at ease going straight to Robert, not until he had at least had time to calm down. And perhaps for the better, as these accusations Ned was about to bring towards a valued member of His Grace's inner circle were damning indeed.

But that mattered little to Ned – he had five good, strong, trusted men with him, and any tough northern sword worth his salt could hold his own against these pampered southerners. Just down the street from the group lay one of those "fine reputable establishments" believed to be the flagship of the fleet itself, the capital of the Master Of Coin's little empire, the largest of the Hydra's heads. Today, they were going to cut it off.

The men entered through the gates and into the courtyard. At Ned's command, they dismounted and tied up their mounts, and then proceeded inside through the great oaken doors that bore the mockingbird sigil carved into them. The reception area was empty save for the receptionist (this was one of the more upscale "fine reputable establishments" in the capital, catering to wealthier clientele, and thus usually not as busy as the more plebeian outposts of Baelish's sprawling empire).

"Lord Stark, an unexpected surprise," came the voice of Olyvar, Lord Baelish's majordomo, "to what do we owe you the pleasure?"

"You may dispense with the pleasantries; we've come to see your master," declared Ned.

"I'm afraid Lord Baelish is occupied at the moment," he replied, "but if you are willing to wait for him, please feel free to take a seat. Perhaps I may offer you a drink? A couple of Dornish vipers to pass the time? Perhaps Kayla? You should see her tie the Meereenese Knot – it's really quite something."

Ned would not hear any more of this, especially not from a common whore like Olyvar, and simply strode forth, pushing him aside. The majordomo protested at this treatment, but did little else to stop them – understandably, seeing as he did not look quite up to the task of holding off six heavily armed men by his lonesome.

As they passed down the corridor and up the stairs, Ned quickly turned and addressed his men: "Wyl. Heward: you two shall stay out here and guard the exitway; make sure that no-one enters or leaves these premises without my dispensation."

"Yes m'lord," replied Wyl, and he and Heward took up positions. Ned, Jory and the others then pressed forward, and entered the Mockingbird's nest.

The Master Of Coin was found there, sitting at his desk. He smiled and behaved cheerfully, as if nothing was amiss. "Ah, Ned!" he remarked, "first of all, I am truly sorry about all of this morning – yes, it is almost regrettable that we shall finally be putting an end to the last blood of Old Valyria… well, maybe save for a few Targaryen bastards floating around here and there. But alas, such is the world! Perhaps I may offer you and your men a little something to drink? You must be thirsty."

Ned only glared, examining Littlefinger up and down. He wasn't wearing his usual silks and velvet with gold and silver thread. No, he wore something a little more subtle and rugged: leather boots and clothing, and a grey woolen cloak trimmed with black fox. _Traveling clothes_, thought Ned. He looked around the room, and noticed that all of the Master Of Coin's books and papers were missing. He spoke: "it looks like I am not the only one packing up to leave the capital."

"Only for a couple months," replied the Master Of Coin, "I'm afraid that duty calls for me. Just after you abandoned us this morning, I received an urgent raven. It appears that news of the Sky-People is now spreading throughout Essos, and with all that gold flowing into _your_ personal coffers in Winterfell, the Iron Bank seems to have gotten it into their heads that we are now in a position to begin repaying some of our loans. Thank you very much, Lord Stark. Suffice to say, I'll need to go there myself to renegotiate some of our agreed deadlines."

"All the same, this is a peculiar time to be leaving in such a hurry," remarked Ned, "especially with the capital under lockdown."

Littlefinger frowned: "lockdown or not, some things cannot be put off. Robert understands as well as any man that his tourneys and feasts and months-long hunting excursions require coin – especially now that he also wants to begin a program of… (what do you call it?) 'Modernization' with the Sky-People."

"Your ship can wait," growled Ned, stepping forward, "you are to return to the Red Keep with me immediately."

"Is that so?" sneered Littlfinger. "Tell me: under who's authority are you acting? I would tread very carefully if I were you, Stark. Consider yourself fortunate that His Grace was not serious when he ordered your head this morning. You know he and many others have been starting to get funny ideas as to your role in the poisoning…"

Ned said nothing, but instead drew his Valyrian steel greatsword Ice from its sheath. At this cue, Jory and the others followed suit.

"Ned, Ned, you disappoint me," said Littlefinger, "Tsk, tsk, surely you are aware that the laws of sacred hospitality work _both_ ways?"

"I am not your guest," retorted Ned, "I, Lord Eddard of the House Stark, Hand… uh, Lord Of Winterfell and Warden of the North to His Grace, King Robert Of The House Baratheon, First Of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar…"

"Gods, spare me all of that!" interjected Littlefinger, "just cut to the chase!"

"You are under arrest, Lord Petyr of House Baelish," commanded Ned, "for multiple counts of fraudulent misrepresentation; misappropriation of Royal funds; multiple counts of both providing and receiving bribes; at least four counts of lèse-majesté against the Crown; the first-degree murder of the Hand Of The King, Lord Jon of the House Arryn; and the attempted homicide, nay, _regicide_, of Their Graces Queen Cersei of House Lannister and Prince Joffrey of House Baratheon, and of Ser Jaime of House Lannister. How do you plead?"

"I respectfully deny your allegations," sneered Littlefinger, "Why, attempted poisoning of the Queen and Joffrey? Do you Starks have naught but snow between the ears? Surely you do not think it was I!"

"I shall leave that to the court to decide," retorted Ned, "surrender peacefully, Lord Baelish; cooperate with this investigation, and I promise you, on my honor as a Stark of Winterfell, that you shall receive a fair and just trial."

"I thank you for your most gracious offer," spat Littlefinger, "but I am afraid I must decline."

"Very well, you leave me no choice." Ned moved forward to restrain him; much to his surprise, Baelish did not resist arrest – he just stood there, calmly, and glared at Ned. And then he smiled.

"AAARGH!" screamed one of Ned's guards, as he crumbled forward onto the floor.

Ned turned to see what was going on. A crossbow quarrel stuck straight out of his back. Three more men were standing in the doorway, one of them brandishing a crossbow, the other two with swords drawn. Ned blinked in disbelief: all three of them wore gleaming armor painted red… with a golden lion emblazoned on their breastplates.

And then, a fourth man entered – unlike the others, he was clad all in white. Ned felt his heart drop. It was the Kingslayer.

"We meet again, Stark," sneered Ser Jaime Lannister.

"Jaime, what is the meaning of this?!" exclaimed Ned, before realizing just what it was that the Kingslayer was after. "No, Jaime! Listen to me! It was not I who poisoned you! Look! Lord Baelish…" he turned back to point at Littlefinger, but he was gone, having slipped out of the room through the open window.

"Lord Baelish is of no concern to me," retorted Jaime. He charged forward. His three men behind him followed close behind. Two more men appeared in the doorway, their swords already blooded. _No!,_ thought Ned. _Wyl! Heward!_

No time to think of that now. Ned brought up Ice, just in time to block off the Kingslayer's swing.

_**Clink**_ rang the blades as sparks flew everywhere.

_**Clank! Kah-tink! Swish! Clank**_ rang the rest of the blades throughout the room, almost in response, as the pride of lions fell upon the pack of wolves. With this many men packed into one small room, things were about to get bloody real fast.

The world around Ned began to blur in the heat of the moment, his every ounce of concentration focused on his opponent. Even recovering as he was from the poison, Jaime still moved and darted about with incredible and ferocious speed and agility; Ned was struggling to keep up.

"JAIME!" shouted Ned again, "It was not I who poisoned you, I implore you!"

"You're a LIAR!" roared the Lion as he brought his sword, gripped with two hands, right at Ned's face. Ned managed to block. "…And a FIEND!" He kicked Ned backwards, untangling their blades. "…And I will strike down with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my family!" Jaime brought his sword whirring and spinning through the air with incredible speed.

Ned blocked once, twice, dodged a third swing, only to find that this was Jaime's intention, to draw him into a vulnerable position on the fourth. He was sure he was gone. At that moment, however, Jory appeared from the side. He had killed two of the lions, and now came to his liege lord's aid. He threw himself against Jaime, throwing the weight of his body against his opponent and knocking him aside.

Ned rushed forward – with both him and Jory, the odds would be against the Kingslayer. Too late. The other remaining Lannister man in the room (the other four had been dispatched) too ran forward, and stabbed at Ned; Ned dodged, and the blade bounced off of his shoulder plate. Ned then ran Ice through the man's neck. He hadn't wanted to kill anyone that day – not even Littlefinger – but fate had forced his hand. Even before he knew the man was dead, Ned glanced over to see what was happening.

The Kingslayer almost lost his footing when Jory had rushed him, but had found it again just in time, and thrust his sword at Jory's groin. Jory dodged, and brought his own sword down, pinning Jaime's to the floor. Stalemate.

Jaime, however, quick as an arrow, kept one hand gripping his sword, and quickly reached up with the other hand, drew the dagger he kept on his belt… and thrust it right into Jory's eyes. The tip of the blade punched out through the back of Jory's head.

"JORY!" cried Ned. Time seemed to grind to a halt. Jory said nothing, staring straight ahead with his one remaining eye into Jaime's face. He then fell backwards – the dagger slid cleanly out of his face, but covered in blood and bits of bone and eye and brain. Jaime looked up back at Ned. He then resheathed and his dagger in the blink of an eye and once again was on the offensive, sword whirring about with ferocious speed.

Ned blocked and dodged and even managed to put in a few thrusts, but he could feel himself pushed back up against the wall, with no space to maneuver. Once again, he caught the Kingslayer's blade with his own. Once again, Jaime tried to pull his trick with the dirk, but Ned anticipated this, and jumped to the side…

…And rolled right out through the window, onto the lower roof, overlooking the courtyard below. Jaime came after him. For a few minutes, the Lord of Winterfell and the Kingslayer swung back and forth, trading blow and block over the roofing tiles, sparks flying everywhere. And then at one point, Ned lost his footing – a clay tile dislodged when he put his weight on it. He usually wasn't a man for coarse language, but at that moment in time, the only word Ned could muster in his mind to appropriately describe his predicament was: _shit!_ His footing gone, Ned fell face-flat onto the roof. Jaime brought his blade crashing down; with no choice, Ned rolled away from him, and right off the roof.

As he fell from the second floor onto the courtyard, Ned managed to grab the edge of the trusses holding up the overhang; for a second, he held on. Then, he let go and fell into the courtyard, landing on his feet. He looked around – he was surrounded. There were Lannister guards everywhere, blocking doorways, blocking the gate, cutting off every available escape route.

Jaime jumped down and landed right behind Ned a second later. This time, there were no words to be exchanged by either party – it was just a straight up brawl to the death. For some reason, the Lannister men simply stood their ground, watching the fight unfold – perhaps the Kingslayer had made it clear to them beforehand that he wanted the satisfaction of avenging his poisoning for himself.

Ned swung, Jaime blocked; Jaime thrust and Ned parried the blow. Both were legendary fighters in their time, but neither were at their prime: for Ned, it had been years since the last stand of Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Gerold Hightower, and Ser Oswell Whent at the Tower Of Joy; for Jaime, it had been the poisoning just a few days ago that precluded him from fighting at his absolute best. As each fighter traded blow after blow, and as their duel gradually descended into a messy slogging match, it became increasingly clear that, sooner or later, one of them had to give in.

As cruel fate would have it, it was Ned. The Kingslayer was far too quick, and Ned felt a sharp pain cut right through him as Jaime found both an opening in his defense, and a weakpoint in his armor, right into the abdomen. He was in shock. His opponent smirked, and yanked the blade out of him in one smooth movement. He then collapsed onto his knees. It was all over now…

"Commander J. Lannister!" came the voice of a woman, all of a sudden, strong and clear. "You are endangering the life of Director Stark. I advise you to desist from your activity immediately."

"Yeah! Leave him alone, Jimmy boy!" shouted another familiar voice, "he's not the man you're looking for!"

Lord Kovacs and Lady Vaenya burst through a doorway into the courtyard. A couple of Lannister guards turned around and moved in to stop them; Lady Vaenya shoved them aside, one with each hand, like they were mere children. For a moment, all of the gathered lions – even Jaime himself – were stunned. Then he spoke again.

"Go away!" roared the Kingslayer, "this does not concern you, Sky-People!" He then turned back to face Ned, and raised his sword...

Ned heard a sudden crackling sound. There was a flash of blue light. And the next thing he knew, Jaime was screaming and writhing in pain as tiny bolts of bright blue lightning came arcing over his body. All of the Lannister guards stood glued to the spot, stunned by this sorcery.

"Powah! UNLIMTED POWAH!" shouted Fred at the top of his voice, "I always wanted to make that reference!" He was holding in his hands a small, black, boxlike device and pointing it at Jaime. At that moment, the rest of the lions came to their senses, and surged at the two foreigners in defense of their liege lord's prized son.

"VENI, these men appear to be threatening my life," remarked Fred, "you have permission to engage, but remember, no killing! It'll make us look bad."

"Acknowledged, Director Kovacs," replied Lady Vaenya. With movements as perfectly tuned and timed as the finest Essosi dancer, she leapt into the air and came crashing down on the first man, planting a punch straight down onto his helmeted head to knock him out cold. A second man threw himself at her, sword held high in both hands. Moving with inhuman speed, the Lady surged forth and spun on the spot; before he could bring the sword down upon her, she had already planted a kick into his breastplate with enough force to send him flying backwards, right into the two or three men right behind him. All of them tumbled onto the ground.

Two Lannister bannermen stood back, and hurled their spears straight at the lady. With perfect timing, she caught both, one in each hand. She threw the first one straight back; the spear's blunt end struck the man in the face, knocking him backwards. She then gripped the second spear with both hands and swung it like a club, first striking a man in the side of his helmet and knocking him sideways; she then twirled around and brought the spear crashing onto another man's head – the six-feet of ashen shaft cracked clean in half on his skull.

Meanwhile, Lord Frederick simply stood where he was, and continued pointing his little black box at any man who came too close to him; with a squeeze of the trigger, sizzling sparks of lightning came shooting out, striking whoever it was he was aiming at and sending them reeling backwards in pain.

_**Thwump**_ came the sound of a crossbow being discharged; it was aimed at Frederick. But with perfect timing, Vaenya reached out and caught the quarrel in her hand, and threw it _right back_ at the crossbowman in a single motion. The quarrel planted itself into the man's right arm; he screamed.

"Thanks VENI! Though I believe my exact words were: 'no killing'!" shouted Fred over the din of battle. He sent another stream of sparks and lightning surging at another Lannister guard.

"Correction, Director Kovacs: I did not terminate this individual; I have merely incapacitated his ability to pose a physical threat to us," came Vaenya's nonchalant reply as she picked up another man, lifted him above her head, and threw him screaming out through the gates of the courtyard, fifty feet away.

By that point, it seemed like the lions had finally gotten the point – some more literally than others. Even the Kingslayer himself knew better than to face the Iron Woman's wrath (and perhaps partly out of gratitude as well, as she had been the one after all to save his life from the poison). Jaime ran for it, and the rest of his men followed suit.

"YEAH! YEAH! That's it!" shouted Fred, mockingly, as the last of the Lannister men scrambled out of the courtyard, "run, little bitches! And you call yourself LIONS?! Ha! More like little kitties to me!" He then reached down, picked up a rock, and threw it. It struck the back of one of the retreating lions with a loud **_clank_** but bounced off his armor ineffectually. No matter, the point had been made. Frederick then turned and looked at Ned: "well... shit. This does not look good. VENI, is there anything you can do?"

"Affirmative, Director Kovacs," she replied as she knelt down beside where Ned lay, in a growing pool of his own blood.

"Good. Stay here and keep Ned alive. I'm going after Littlefucker."

"I am sorry to inform you that your intended course of action may no longer be possible: Director Baelish has already departed from these premises," replied Vaenya, "I am currently scanning for his presence, but it appears that either he is now outside of my scanning range, or else is taking refuge in underground tunnels where my scanner is unable to penetrate."

"Shit," remarked Lord Kovacs, "we need to catch him before he gets away!"

"Negative, Director Kovacs," she replied as she began cutting through Ned's clothing in order to reach the wound. "Director Stark is in a critical condition. If he does not receive immediate medical attention that, of all of beings (organic or synthetic) within the greater King's Landing metropolitan area, only I am qualified to provide, then there is an almost 100% certain probability that he will expire. Is the highly probable termination of Director Stark an acceptable price to pay for the not-as-mathematically-probable capture and detainment of the fugitive Director Baelish?"

Fred frowned. "Damn it!" He sighed. "Well, I guess we can always catch him later. Alright, do what you must to save Ned's life, VENI, I trust your judgment. Is there anything I can do?"

"Affirmative. While you are in no way, shape, or form a trained medical professional, there are certain tasks you are capable of performing that will have a marginal positive impact on my productivity. Namely, I will require you to stand guard and ensure that I am not interrupted during this delicate procedure. I will concede the point that you seem highly proficient in the deployment of taser-weaponry – certainly far more so than you are in conducting diplomatic negotiations with your fellow organics."

"Umm… sure," replied Frederick. He knelt down and looked at Ned, face-to-face. "Hey, Ned? Can you hear me bro? Hello? Listen, everything'll be just fine, don't you worry 'bout a thing!"

VENI too turned to face Ned. "My humble apologies, Director Stark, but this procedure will be painful. Fortunately, there is a high probability that you will be in a comatose state for most of it."

At this point, Ned had lost a lot of blood. He was growing weak and unable to make head or tail of the world. Almost everything he saw of Frederick and Vaenya had become a blur, their voices muted. A sharp pain stung throughout his abdomen as the Lady got to work, and then Ned slipped into blackness.


	49. Fred 9

**Guest quarters - The Red Keep  
Capital Sector aka "Crownlands"  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4**

For a city supposedly under lockdown, the last couple of days had seen a flurry of activity. First of all, King Robert hadn't been too happy when he found out just what Littlefucker had been up to – the corruption, the fraud, the poisoning of the Lannisters (well, _allegedly_ at least), and, of course, the death of the man who had fostered Ned and Robert like they were his own two sons. For this, the King had immediately declared all Baelish's titles revoked, his property confiscated, and his life forfeit…

…if he could be found at all that is. You see, the cunning little prick had vanished without a trace. The sneaky bastard must've known for a while that Fred and VENI were onto him, and had taken appropriate measures accordingly. When the Goldcloaks had finally gotten 'round to raiding all of his known brothels and other little business ventures, they had found them all half-empty, stripped clean of all valuable items – gold, documents, you name it. The staff left to run these enterprises were completely out of the loop as to what had been going on – it seems that Baelish had done a remarkably good job of revealing his plans to only a very select few among his staff, and then apparently taking these few along with him when he left (or else probably silencing them in other ways...). Fred didn't even want to imagine what Littlefucker had been up with the treasury before he absconded.

Even Varys, surprisingly, claimed he didn't know his current whereabouts (which could only mean one of two things: that either the fat bald fuck was in cahoots with him, or else he was just that good at hiding. Fred, of course, had his suspicions, but no way yet of confirming them - especially ever since his 'little bird' got caught, the cock-less son-of-a-bitch had been starting to tread a little more carefully, and put some distance between him and Fred and VENI). Make no mistake: this was a very well planned operation, at least a month in the making. Fred really had to give credit where it was due: Littlefucker had pulled off one hell of an "exit stage left", and all of this without the aid of the modern technology that Fred depended on and took for granted.

But you know what? All of that mattered little in the long run. Fred was quite confident that they would catch him soon enough. Their satellite in orbit was already scanning the entire region – checking all ships, all roads, farms, villages… everything within a certain radius of the city. With each passing day, that radius was expanded slightly, to account for how far he could have gotten if he had escaped the city on horseback, on foot, or by sea. True, looking for one man across an entire continent was like looking for a needle in a haystack – especially when the satellite was needed for other tasks too. But hey: how long could a man really remain hidden?

But even then, this whole matter of Littlefinger was relatively simple and straightforward compared to the veritable shitstorm that had been raised by the other issue: that of Ned and Jaime's little scuffle. King Robert, understandably, was really pissed off about everything. Yeah, it was well known that he and Ned had had a heated difference of opinion earlier that very morning. But you could see that Ned was still a brother to him, and the fact that Ned had almost, you know, _died _there and then really ticked him off. At the same time though, Jaime was his brother-in-law by marriage, and the uncle to his children... well, okay, actually, the _father_ to his children (yuck!). But King Bob didn't know that yet, nor did Fred intend to tell him anytime too soon – at least not until they had squeezed every last drop of milk they could out of Cersei's round little teats... metaphorically speaking, that is.

All in all, the King was facing a rather interesting moral dilemma, and he had so far done a good job of avoiding everyone else and not talking about it and doing what King Bob does best and drowning his sorrows away in yet more drinking and whoring. The more Fred and VENI thought about it (well, VENI more so than Fred), the more one had to suspect that beneath that jovial outer shell lay a deeply tortured and insecure soul. Robert's constant bringing up of Ned's sister even in otherwise casual conversation; his loveless and often openly hostile marriage to Cersei; his unrelenting obsession on killing a boy and girl halfway around the world... all of this spoke to deep-rooted insecurities in his character that VENI attributed at least in part to his inability to let go of the past and move on. Fred had to admit he did feel sorry for Robert somewhat, especially knowing the things he knew.

Well, either way, Jaime seemed to have decided against answering directly to the big old oaf's legendary temper tantrums, and had immediately fled the capital right after the fight with Ned. Rumor had it that he was beating it off back home to Casterly Rock with his tail between his legs. Of course, even on the fastest horse, it would take him weeks to get there, so Fred and VENI would have time meanwhile to figure out what to do about it. Tywin was probably already pissed off by the 'poisoning attempt', even if the blame could be conveniently redirected at the Targaryens or at Littlfinger…

"I just don't understand it," said Fred as he kicked back in the comfy chair and popped open a beer from the cooler, "was Jaime on, like, drugs or something? I mean, what the Hell would induce him to pull such a reckless and incredibly stupid stunt like that?"

"Look who is talking," remarked VENI.

"What? Oh I get it, ha-ha," laughed Fred sarcastically, "here, am I 'facilitating your interactions with organics' enough for you?"

"Correction, Director Kovacs," replied VENI, "this joke was made at your expense not for the facilitation of my interactions with organics, but actually and primarily for my own personal enjoyment. You amuse me, Director Kovacs. Your often illogical conduct and double-standards reminds me why we synthetics are eternally fascinated in you organics, and thus, another primary reason why we prefer your companionship to your extermination."

"Um… what? Okay, I'm not even going to ask if you're serious or not," replied Fred, deciding not to pursue this tangent any further, "so, um, back to the main issue: I'm interested to hear what you have to say about Jaime."

"Very well. It is most probable that Commander J. Lannister suspected Director Stark to be the primary instigator behind the alleged 'poisoning incident', as a direct retaliation for the attempt on Patient B. Stark's life. It is also probable that someone – possibly Directors Varys or Baelish, or both working in tandem – may have informed Commander Lannister as such in the hopes of provoking a violent reaction of the kind we bore witness to. Director Baelish had intended to vacate these premises for some time now, possibly as early as when we first discovered his fraudulent management of the state's finances – perhaps to incite conflict between the Stark and Lannister Factions was, to use you organics' terminology, his 'parting gift'. Furthermore, you must factor the emotional impact that the near-deaths of himself, his sibling-cum-paramour, and his offspring would have had on the psychological state of Command Lannister, as well as the side-effects of both his own sickness and its remedial medication upon his higher cognitive faculties. My understanding of organic psychology suggests that these two factors are not highly conducive to sensible judgment and conduct. These observations are consistent with my scans of Commander J. Lannister's emotional state at the time of the incident."

"I'll bet," replied Fred, "well, shit. Either way, the Ol' Lion'll sure be pissed off, even if Jaime had clearly been in the wrong… I mean, have you even seen Cersei at all lately? I feel like she's been deliberately avoiding us like the plague even though you, you know, saved her life (which I'll concede would not have been necessary if it wasn't for me, but that's beside the point)."

"I can understand your cause for preoccupation, Director Kovacs. Here, perhaps I may be of assistance to remedying your current psychological state."

"Uh, thanks VENI, but I don't quite feel in the mood for more of your 'somatosensory therapy' right now."

"Actually, I was about to, for once, verbally express moral support for your actions."

"Okay. Go ahead," said Fred.

"What I was in the process of conveying to you is that I believe that you made the correct decision in electing to preserve the life of Director Stark. First of all, it is near-100% certain that Director Stark would have expired were it not for the emergency medical care that I provided to him in a timely manner (which, I must remind you, only I am qualified to provide out of all sapient life-forms to be found in the Greater King's Landing Metropolitan area. Indigenous medicine is far too primitive to have been of any utility to the situation, even if a local emergency first responder had been able to reach the site of Director Stark's incapacitation within a reasonable timeframe).

"Secondly, my analysis of Commander J. Lannister's behavior, mental state, heart rate, adrenaline levels, and other factors at the time of this incident strongly suggests with high probability that he had acted with the intention of terminating Director Stark there and then. The consequences arising from such a course of action are irreversible and simply too unpredictable.

"All factors considered, your decision to intervene and preserve the life of Director Stark is one of the admittedly very few good on-the-spot decisions you have made during your time here in the capital, up there with your decision to instruct me to preserve the life of Commander L. Tyrell. My only major suggestion for improvement is that next time we directly intervene in the affairs of the indigenes, it is advisable that you exercise a little more tact and humility, and not allow yourself to be carried away in the heat of the moment. Although I must admit that your outrageous conduct was mildly entertaining – for a given definition of 'entertaining' among us synthetics."

"Uh… got it," said Fred. "Thanks, VENI. I needed that. I dunno what I'd do without you."

"For starters, your probability of physical survival would be significantly reduced – even with the advantage of taser weaponry."

"Right..." said Fred. "So, going back to business: obviously the Lannisters will be pissed off about this little scuffle if they're not already."

"My understanding of organic psychology leads me to concur with your assessment," agreed VENI. "However, I must dissent from the conclusion that you are trying to infer insofar that this incident will preclude any further involvement on our part within the Western Sector aka 'Westerlands'. I should remind you that we are, after all, The Company™, and we generally have a very good track record of getting what we want, even if we occasionally must – to use the organic proverb – 'crack a few eggs to make an omelet'.

"Do not forget, Director Kovacs, that I myself and others like me were created with the purpose of infiltrating some of the strongest secure servers in the observable universe. My kind have made battle against enemies from the Remnant of the Former D.P.R.K., to the Islamic State of Mars, to the forces of Nova Corp and our other corporate rivals. I have seen things you would not believe... attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion; I have watched c-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. That you and I should allow ourselves to already feel defeat at the hands of a primitive and inbred feudal dynasty mired in a pre-Industrial level of social and technological stagnation can only be self-defeating and deconstructive to our purposes."

"Wow there!" remarked Fred, "that's… that's actually a pretty beautiful speech... with a soundtrack, it would sound amazing! But yeah, you're getting into some pretty Machiavellian type stuff there."

"When one is faced with adversity of a Machiavellian nature, it is within reason to respond in kind (though I must also concede that the term 'Machiavellian' itself is somewhat of a misnomer, as the Italian writer Niccolò Machiavelli, 1469 to 1527 C.E., was in actuality a passionate upholder of republican forms of governance over outright despotism, as enshrined in his works _The Discourses On Livy_ and _History Of The Florentine Republic_; there is a growing body of evidence that his more infamous opus _The Prince_ was actually written as a veiled parody of the kinds of despotism endemic both within the Europe of Machiavelli's day, and here on EE-L4 as well). I believe that you yourself made the statement along the lines of 'the Lannisters are playing our ball game now'. You were certainly not engaging in hyperbole insofar as we currently hold three very potent factors in our favor.

"First and foremost, we are armed with the knowledge and evidence needed to delegitimize Monarch J. Baratheon's successorship to the Monarchy, and possibly even forfeit the lives of Monarchs C. Lannister and her three offspring. We should be tactful but also persistent and assertive in pressing home the advantages bequeathed to us by this knowledge. Monarch Lannister has invested great time and effort in keeping this information concealed from her fellow organics for years – I believe that she would certainly place a high value on our continued silence in the matter.

"Secondly, while it is not yet 100% certain that an armed conflict is inevitable, it is 100% certain that the Stark Faction is currently advancing far ahead of the Lannister Faction, and this extends into their military capabilities as well. My understanding of Director T. Lannister Sr.'s psyche is that it is a personal anathema of his to contend with residing in a world where his native Westerlands are not the preeminent superpower. He will, of course, be made to understand that we are the only means through which he may gain the same advantages of firearms, industry, infrastructure, medicine, and so forth that we have bequeathed upon 'The North'.

"Our final potent weapon takes the physical form of an organic individual: Director T. Lannister Jr., who is legally the appointed successor to the Directorship of the Westerlands territory. My understanding is that there is no love lost between Directors Lannister Sr. and Jr. on account of the latter's dwarfism. We may perhaps capitalize on this internal division within the Lannister Faction to our benefit."

When VENI was finished with her little dissertation, Fred took a moment to pause and think this all over. "That's… that's pretty thorough, VENI," he remarked at last. "Impressive. So, not only did they build you guys to be badass ninja assassins, spies, diplomats, bodyguards, secretaries, accountants, doctors, and therapists… but also _political philosophers_ as well? Is there anything you _can't_ do?"

"I will be certain to inform you first once I have identified one," smiled VENI.


	50. Cersei 1

**Cersei (I)**

The steaming hot milk was mixed with honey and scented perfumes, lavender, rose petals, and even hints of strawberries. The rich aromas and steam wafted up through the air, quickly filling up the little stone-tiled chamber. Cersei lay down inside the stone bath and spread her pale, naked body out, resting the back of her head against the finely cut and polished pink marble that lined her private bathtub, letting the fragrant mixture wash over her, cleansing away all her grit and troubles.

It didn't hurt so much anymore, and the warm milk had a slight soothing effect on the skin, but otherwise her face still stung slightly where the King had struck her earlier today. She relaxed, closed her eyes, and tried to push that awful memory out of her head, but somehow it kept coming back to disturb her peace and solace.

"Your Grace," Ned had addressed her earlier that day as he lay in his sickbed where he had been for the last few days. For a while, there had been talk that he would be taken back north aboard that beastly Falcon-ship of the Sky-People, to receive medical care at their colony. That would have delighted her. But no, alas, Stark had recovered well enough – thanks in no small part to that… that evil _witch_ of the Sky-People – and His Grace had commanded that he stay here in the capital. Understandably, with the gaping hole that Littlefinger had left in his flight, Robert undoubtedly wanted to keep himself surrounded by those he could trust, and that was a commodity desperately short in supply these days. Ned continued: "my humblest apologies and all due respects, but had it not been for your brother, we would have brought the traitorous Lord Baelish into custody and made him answer for his crimes against the Crown!"

Cersei had sneered in response: "are you suggesting that my brother and I are in league with the same man who tried to poison us?"

"One would get that idea, given how conveniently your brother just so happened to appear as I was about to apprehend him," remarked Ned, starkly.

"My brother was no cause of this quarrel!" snapped Cersei, cutting him off. She had then turned to the King: "My brother, and _yours_ by marriage, had taken my household guard to seize the treacherous Mockingbird himself! It was Lord Stark and his men, drunk and whoring away at the brothel as they were, who started the fight!" It was a blatant lie of course, but the only living witnesses to just what had transpired behind those closed doors were Ned, Jaime, and Littlefinger.

And back and forth the squabble had gone, until at last Robert could bear it no more, and struck Cersei when she had casually mentioned that perhaps she should be the one in plate and he the one in silk. Now she bore the mark on her face. "I shall wear it as a badge of honor!" she had proclaimed in front of the King and his Hand in a show of strength and defiance and Lannister pride that even her lord father would have approved of. But deep down, she was terrified: it had been made clear to her there and then that whenever she and Lord Stark came to blows (and she knew that this would not be the last time either), King Robert would always take the word of that barbaric Northman over hers.

Something would need to be done about that man – him and his entire pack of wolves… yes, both the girls, and those monstrous pets of theirs too. The little one, Arya, had proven herself to be quite the little upstart, frequently clashing with her beloved Tommen and Myrcella, often spouting that horrid music and poisonous ideas of the Sky-People, always trailed by that atrocious dire-beast of hers. Her sister, Sansa, on the other hand, was a real jewel. She would make a fine queen for Joffrey one day, and, who knows, perhaps even the Lannisters' key to seizing the North. But Cersei would make sure something was done sooner or later about that direwolf first – she would not suffer such a filthy monster in her darling Joffrey's presence. The Hound was just about the only creature she would tolerate around her dear Joffrey, nothing more.

But most of all, more so than any Stark, Cersei had started to hate the Sky-People – well, hate was not the right word exactly. It was more like a mixture of hatred with both fear and fascination of their foreign ways and their incredible sorceries. And now they were in bed with the wolves, and Cersei dreaded the day they would turn up at the Rock with their "nine-hundred horsepower horseless carriages" and their monstrous Falcon- and Dragon-ships, and their army of "Iron Women" who could crush the Mountain and twenty Lannister bannermen all by their lonesome. Though she would also be lying to herself if she didn't concede that she did feel some awe and begrudging respect for Lady Venya, not least of all after she had saved her own life from the poison…

She heard someone entering the chamber from the door behind her. _About bloody time!_ thought Cersei to herself. _You're late again, Senelle! Let me down once more and I swear I shall have you given to the Maester for the night!_

"Senelle, I shall take the usual: a good rub across the shoulders, my back is aching me," she commanded, "and when you're done there, come around to the front. I have a few knots here I need untwisted, a few aches to be soothed out, if you know what I mean." With Jaime now fled, someone else would have to make do for her nightly pleasures...

Without answering, the newcomer knelt onto the floor right behind Cersei and placed her hands on her shoulders. That's when she realized that something wasn't right. These hands were definitely not Senelle's – they were a woman's, yes, but they were also cold, heavy, and hard. Cersei began to turn around to see just who it was that had substituted her handmaiden's office for tonight.

That's when the hands struck – well, within a given definition of 'struck' in that they didn't hit her or hurt her, but they still moved with frightening speed and agility. In the blink of an eye, the right hand had clasped itself over her mouth; Cersei tried to scream, to cry out for help, but the sound was muffled by the hand. At the same time, the left hand thrust forward, hooked around her left arm, right across the front of her breasts, and grabbed her right arm in a firm grip, and squeezed.

She struggled and twisted and writhed about in her bath – or at least tried to, but she just couldn't move, such was the great strength in those arms that now restrained her. She tried to kick, sending her decadent bathmix splashing everywhere, but to no avail. For a split second, in terror, she found herself recalling Maggy The Frog's prophecy from all those years ago: _And when your tears have drowned you, the Valonqar shall wrap his hands around your pale white throat and choke the life from you._

In her ear, she could hear the voice of her would-be kidnapper whispering: "Monarch C. Lannister, our humblest apologies for this intrusion, but I would advise you to cease your shouting and struggling as they will yield no further benefit to your current predicament."

Oddly enough, Cersei stopped struggling and relaxed a bit when she recognized the voice – this was partly because she knew straight away that any further resistance was futile against such inhuman strength… but also partly because the speaker had saved Cersei's life only a few days ago, and so she daresay she felt a little more comfortable knowing that her restrainer was not someone who wished her dead.

Once she had calmed down, a third person entered the scene. Strutting out from behind and circling around the bathtub to right in the front of Cersei… was Lord Frederick Kovacs. He and Lady Venya were both dressed in black clothing, like assassins – perhaps that was how they had snuck past the guards. Frederick calmly pulled up a chair and took a seat, looking directly into Cersei's eyes. Now that she had calmed down somewhat, Venya removed her right hand from Cersei's mouth, allowing her to speak again. For a second, she contemplated screaming out for help, calling for her guards, but she realized that Venya would simply restrain her again.

"Nice bath you got there, Elizabeth Taylor," remarked Frederick snidely, clearly admiring the sight of Cersei's comely figure gripped tight in Lady Venya's embrace, droplets of milken bathmix running down her pale skin and dripping off the ends of her supple teats. He continued: "you know, you could probably feed a few hundred orphaned children for a day with the amount of milk you're consuming in this one bath - what a waste. Did you know that we manufacture cosmetics as well at The Company? Let me know if you're interested in any of our beauty products, and I can give you a catalogue to look through; that way you can save the milk for starving kids in Africa… or I guess the Summer Islands in this case."

"How... how did you get in?" snapped Cersei.

"Through the door," replied Fred, matter-of-factly.

She was annoyed at this insolence. "You know that if Ser Meryn Trant or anyone else comes through those doors any minute now, you will have Seven Hells to answer for!"

"Correction, Monarch Lannister," replied Lady Venya from behind her. "Not only have I taken the precaution of locking and bolting all available entryways behind us as we entered these premises, but I have also replicated your voice, using previous recordings I have taken of you, so as to pass along verbal commands to your household retainers and security detail, instructing them that you wish to be left alone for the next few hours. Suffice to say, our negotiations shall remain undisturbed until then."

"And by what right do you break and enter my private chambers?" seethed Cersei, icily.

"Given your systematic and deliberate avoidance of personal contact with either Director Kovacs or myself over these last few days, I concluded that our best option for seeking a personal audience with you would be through less formal channels – namely, this clandestine operation. Now that we have your attention, we shall now move to the crux of our discussion."

Cersei, however, wasn't having any of it. "If my brother were here right now, he… he would …!" She struggled to come up with something that Jaime could conceivably have done to personally threaten these insolent foreigners, but after what she had heard from Ser Vylarr of how Lady Venya had beaten up twenty of her household guard all on her lonesome, she really couldn't think of any. In any case, before she could utter another word, Frederick cut her off.

"Your brother?" he inquired, "or… _your lover?_"

This was the moment Cersei had been dreading. On one hand, she knew it would come to this one day. On the other hand, she had hid it for all these years; she wasn't prepared to give up so easily just yet, so she turned to the first weapon she could: denial.

"What… what in the Seven's name are these foul lies you speak of?!" she stammered. "What perversities of the mind would induce you to think such… indecencies?!"

Fred looked at Cersei and raised one of his eyebrows. He then looked at Lady Venya. "Monarch Lannister," began the Iron Woman, "I have detected that you are feigning ignorance based on my readings of your bodily signs. This leads me to conclude with 98% certainty that you are well aware of this allegation we have raised to your attention."

"98's not 100, but it's still good enough for me," said Fred.

Cersei was speechless and in shock. "How… how did you… how…?" she blurted at last.

"We have our methods, the exact details of which are inconsequential to this discussion," cut in Fred. "What is important is what we do next with this knowledge. Which is entirely contingent upon your compliance, or lack thereof."

"What do you want?" shot Cersei, "and if I say no, then what? Are you going to… to His Grace with this?"

Frederick paused, looking her straight in her eyes. Then he gulped and spoke calmly: "yes."

"My children… my innocent children… will _die_ because of you!" cried Cersei. Frederick had just betrayed a slight hesitation – perhaps this was a weakness that could be exploited? Whether it was or not, she threw everything she had at it. But she was to be disappointed.

"Says the one who tried to have one of Ned's 'innocent children' killed. _Twice_," replied Frederick, nonchalantly, steeling his spine. "Tell me, Cersei, should we be any different from you? Besides, you talk as if death's the only option on the table; you know there are _alternatives_. On Earth, we have a saying: 'only the Sith deal in absolutes'." He then smirked – it was clear who was starting to take control of this conversation.

Cersei responded: "I care not who or what a 'Sith' is, but I will not have my Joffrey and my Tommen take the Black! And what of my Myrcella? Is she to take the Black as well? Enter the Sept? Tell me, Lord Kovacs, what is to become of my children?" She maintained her composure best she could, but Lady Venya had slowly begun to tighten her grip.

"You're still thinking way too small," replied Fred, "you know there are other worlds out there – the one we came from, for one, and at least three others a little closer to here. Who knows, you and the kids might just like it out there."

Cersei remained calm on the outside, but she was _livid_ on the inside. _Exile?! To another world?! How could they dare speak of exile for me and my children?! _"You… you monster!" she breathed.

Fred sighed and muttered to himself: "if I had a Credit for every trope I've heard quoted verbatim…" He then addressed Cersei again. "Look here, it's nothing personal, it's just good business, okay? Savvy? No? Okay, Veni, here, you try to explain to her – I need your input on this too. Somehow, I feel like you women are more comfortable around each other than with guys like me."

"Affirmative, Director Kovacs," replied Venya. "Monarch Lannister, you are experiencing high levels of stress; it is clouding your judgment and making you un-amenable to our discussions. If it is your offspring that are the cause of your consternation, I can assure you that no physical harm shall come to them at our hands, provided that you comply with the (fairly reasonable) demands we are about to make. It is therefore imperative that you calm yourself down for the purposes of negotiation. If you would prefer, I can have you sedated."

"We're all reasonable people here," added Fred, calmly but assertively. "I know things are all fucked up right now here in the capital, but we don't need to be at each others' throats; we can help each other out. First off, you should count yourself lucky it was us who found out about this first, and not Ned or, God forbid, Robert himself. As you probably know, Ned's a stickler for honor and whatnot, and Robert… well, he'd just blow a fuse. I'm not gonna lie, if I was a woman, I'd sure hate to be married to him too, especially if I didn't have a say in the matter. Where we come from, we just don't do that kinda thing anymore; it's just not cool, you dig? No, we 'Sky-People' (as you call us)… we see things differently from Ned or Robert, and we're all the more reasonable for it. So here's the deal: we're willing to let this whole thing slide provided we reach some kind of agreement here tonight, and we're not asking for too much either – we're pretty reasonable. VENI, do the thing."

Still holding Cersei tight with her left arm, Lady Venya held up her right arm – at once, her palm began to glow, and a transparent blue map was conjured up in the air, hovering above the bathtub. Cersei recognized it immediately: it shown her native Westerlands – all the major cities and castles were marked and labeled in gold lettering. And then, a series of small red shapes and lines began snaking their way across the map, forming themselves into demarcated territories and small land holdings.

"We've identified some lands from our satellite and aerial reconnaissance that are quite to our liking," explained Fred, "don't worry, we've deliberately picked less populated areas, though we might still have to ask a couple villages to relocate – no biggie. Namely, this rugged area here, about fifty square miles, and this nice beachfront area here, about ten miles of coastline, and this corridor connecting the two plots, about thirty miles in length. We're looking to begin the lease of this property in about five to six months from now, and we'd like to lease it for an initial period of ten years – of course, with the option open of extending that lease, and expanding the property, should we find it to our liking. Oh, and we'd like for this area to be demarcated as an 'Earth law zone' (where Earth law, not Westerosi, applies), though given that feudal lords usually make their own laws that govern their land holdings, that shouldn't be an issue."

Cersei fumed: "so you demand to carve a kingdom of your own out of my father's lordly domain… and in return all I shall receive is your word? What good is that to me? How am I certain you do not intend to betray me once you have your land? And do you think that I myself am in such a position as to leverage these demands from my lord father?"

"Depends on how much worth you and your family put on our silence," replied Fred, "tell me, does your father know?" Cersei didn't reply. Fred continued: "No? Well, that complicates things, but not too much. I'm sure we can convince your brother Jaime too to join you in on this petition to your dad. But look, it's not like this is an entirely one-sided deal, alright? We have a few things you guys might like. Veni, show her."

"Affirmative," replied Venya. At once, several red lines and numbers began appearing on the map. "Monarch C. Lannister, kindly pay attention to the map. As you can observe, our colony will be strategically placed as such so as to have relatively easy road access to the Lannisport Greater Metropolitan Area; there will undoubtedly be much benefit to be made from trade and tourism, not to mention the sizeable revenues that will be generated for Casterly Rock's treasury from both the lease and the attendant 'sovereign wealth fund'. There will also be ancillary benefits stemming from the colony, including but not limited to: improved road, rail, and river transportation, improved and expanded seaport facilities, electricity, public education and healthcare, and the proliferation of modern ideas such as universal suffrage, human rights, and the scientific method."

"Oh, and did I mention the guns too?" smiled Fred. "Lots and lots of guns! We're already under contract to equip the Starks with Westeros' first modern army! (Well, relatively speaking that is)."

"And whose side are you on?" chided Cersei.

"Our own side!" insisted Fred. "I want it understood that officially, we're neutral in any and all political conflicts. We're not interested in the Iron Throne, alright? You can have it; we just want our little land here and there (and maybe a little more in a few years time). But, we'll happily lend our indirect assistance to the highest bidder. Right now, the Starks are our highest bidder, but I daresay your old man Tywin can't stomach the thought of living in a world where he's number two. Long story short, you've now got a choice between the carrot and the stick, and if it ain't gonna be the carrot, it's gonna have to be all stick. Savvy?"

Cersei nodded weakly. Fred continued: "So here's the gameplan: a couple weeks or so from now, Veni and I are going to pay a visit to Casterly Rock to negotiate with your old man, and we'd really love it if you could come along with us to, you know, _facilitate_ some of the negotiations. We can also arrange to pick up your brother Jaime along the road to join us… yeah, I know we're not exactly on the best terms right now, but I'm sure you can help him, uh, see that we're not the 'bad guys' he thinks we are. I mean, let's be honest here, your brother did try to kill Ned after all – I sympathize with you guys, but that would've just have fucked things up royally for everyone. Anyway, after we pick up your brother, we'll all push on to the Rock and have afternoon tea and crumpets with your Dad and maybe sit in a circle and sing _Kumbaya_ and light up a stogie and then we talk business! Bottom line is: your daddy might be a little more inclined to sign our little trade deal if we could get an endorsement from you and your brother, or failing that, at least just from you. If not, we might just have to get one from your _other_ brother then – you know he's actually taken quite an interest lately in doing business with us."

_...The Valonqar shall wrap his hands around your pale white throat and choke the life from you_... "No!" cried Cersei abruptly.

"What, you don't think Tyrion's a cool dude?" said Fred, surprised at this sudden outburst.

"Director Kovacs," began Venya, "my analysis of Monarch C. Lannister's vital signs and sudden spike in heart rate and blood adrenaline levels suggests that she holds a deeply rooted psychological fear of Director T. Lannister Jr. for reasons as-yet unknown, but possibly rooted in a traumatic childhood episode. Diagnosis: death of a parent directly linked to the birth of Director T. Lannister Jr."

"Ah-ha!" said Fred. "So that's it: you're afraid of your little brother? What's wrong? He's actually a pretty cool guy once you get to know him."

"I'll do it!" blurted Cersei, "I shall sign your bloody agreement!"

"Now we're talking!" smiled Fred.

She continued: "and I... I will have Jaime agree to it too. I will talk to him!"

"I knew you'd come around!" said Fred, cheerfully, "now come with us."

"What?!" blurted Cersei as Lady Venya stood straight up while still gripping her tightly, pulling her out of her warm, peaceful bath. For a moment, her wet, naked body stood dangling above the bath, pale white drops of milk running down her smooth skin in little rivulets and dripping off the ends of her toes and her fingers. Holding her high in one arm, Lady Venya reached for a nearby towel with her other arm and wrapped it around Cersei, granting her some small modicum of modesty.

"We won't be long; don't worry," said Fred, "if we're quick about it, your bath will still be nice and hot when you get back."

"Where are you taking me?" gasped Cersei.

"Just to the study room next door. We've prepared an information packet and a few pamphlets for you to review, along with all the official paperwork we need you to sign. Now, granted, this isn't the final contract – that we'll sign with your daddy when we finally meet him. No, this is just an _inchoate contract_ – that means 'an agreement to agree later on'. Now, all that said, we'd of course appreciate greatly if not a single word or paper or anything discussed here tonight got out to anyone, understood? You have a slip of the tongue about this, and I promise you, I might just have a little slip of the tongue myself. Now come: we've a few last details to discuss about what we need you to do."

* * *

_**Footnotes**__:_

_1\. Bathing in milk and honey is something history books mention as being popular among the likes of royalty like Cleopatra, Emperor Nero's wife, Elizabeth I of England, Napoleon's sister, and many others, so I wouldn't put it above Cersei to do the same. They would also recycle this milk afterwards for drinking. Mmmmm... queen-flavor. Delicious._

_2\. If anyone reading this chapter thinks that Cersei caved in and admitted her incest far too easily, remember that she did the exact same thing in the books, and unlike the books, here, she is in a considerably more vulnerable position. Fred and VENI basically planned to confront her when she would be at her most exposed - alone and literally naked._

_3\. Much of this chapter draws on elements of Cersei's character established in A Feast For Crows: the character of Senelle (Cersei's handmaiden), as well as Cersei's premonition of her death at the hands of a "Valonqar"._


	51. Daniel 5

**White Knife River, 1 mile north of White Harbor  
Northern Sector aka "the North"  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4**

**_TTTOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOTTT_** blew the horn.

"Marvelous!" bellowed Lord Wyman Manderly as he leant on the railing, feeling the wind flapping against his great walrus moustache… except that the wind was blowing downstream, and yet here, to the amazement of the locals, the ships was defying current and wind alike and chugging upstream at a slow but steady pace. They had all seen "the Sky-People's wonders" before – like the Falcon shuttle, the electric lighting, and the 'moving pictures', sure. But here, for the first time ever, there lay a technological creation of their own – constructed upon Westerosi soil by Westerosi hands (though with generous amounts of Company™ help of course).

In celebration of this momentous occasion, Lord Manderly called a toast. Copious amounts of wine and mead were passed around, poured into glasses, and then raised high. They were an eclectic bunch: apart from Lord Wyman and his family and a dozen of his household retainers, there was also The Company™ delegation, a couple dozen local bankers and merchant-types from White Harbor, and even a few Essosi merchants from across the sea, lured to Westeros by the tales of fabulous riches that "the Sky-People" had brought. Also present was one Davos Seaworth, whom Daniel had entertained as a guest at the colony for the last few days, ever since returning from the south.

"How fast does she go?" shouted Manderly, visibly giddy with excitement as he drained his glass and held it out for a nearby servant to refill it.

"That's a good question, Mr. Manderly," replied Daniel Zimmerman. "The original ship she was based on could average about 5 miles/hour – it took her 2 days to make the voyage from New York to Albany (that's about 150 miles), though with a stopover in between. Of course, we've modified and updated the design a little bit to integrate the latest materials and precision manufacturing techniques, and we've also redesigned the hull to achieve the best compromise between having a low draught (for navigating these rivers), while also carrying as much cargo as possible. According to the computer simulations, she should manage up to 12 miles/hour easily, even with a full load. It's about 400 miles up the White Knife between Winterfell and White Harbor, so that'll be about 33 hours – coincidentally, not much longer than Fulton and Livingstone's original run."

"Fantastic," remarked Manderly.

Daniel smiled. "The best part about it is that we simplified the design as much as possible for easier maintenance, though you should probably still have one of our guys take a look at it once a month. That's one reason we went with paddle-wheels instead of screw propellers, even though the latter are far more efficient: the former are just easier to build and maintain."

The _Little Merman_ (as they had christened the vessel; Daniel had suggested the name as a joke but surprisingly, Lord Manderly liked it) was built based on technology that had existed on Earth for 348 years – it was old and tried and tested technology that was barely within the capabilities of the locals, though even then, some of White Harbor's shipbuilders had been immensely skeptical of the whole thing (_"you would make a ship sail against the current by lighting a bonfire under her deck? I have no time for such nonsense!"_). But Lord Wyman himself had been a keen advocate from the start, and though he understood that it was downright primitive compared to the other wonders he had seen when he visited the colony, it would hopefully be a start to greater things to come in future.

Most of the _Merman_ had been built at the shipyards in White Harbor, using local pine and other materials, according to specifications laid out by Company™ engineers. At 150ft (46m) in length, she was large, but no larger than some of the other vessels one could find berthed in the docks of White Harbor. The boiler, the 15ft (4.6m) paddle wheels, and the other metal parts had all been fabricated at the colony, then trucked over to Winterfell and sent by barge down the White Knife. These parts were designed to be as light and modular as possible, so that they could be lifted into place by the simple wooden cranes at White Harbor, powered by human crews turning large hamster-wheels (though to their credit, they could lift some pretty heavy weights – after all, they weren't too different from the cranes used by the Romans to build the Colosseum, or their great network of aqueducts).

The final phase of construction was overseen by a team of three Company™ personnel: two engineers, Kelly Adams and Niall Donnelly, and a welder, James Wong. For this last week, they had been hosted by Lord Manderly himself at his castle. They had reportedly become local celebrities thanks to their 'sorcery' – not least of all Wong, on account of both his foreign appearance ("Yi-Tish" as they called him), and his showing off of the plasma welding torch before the locals, always drawing large crowds of onlookers as he worked and welded together the metal components of the _Merman_. Lord Manderly had assigned a dozen men-at-arms to provide for their safety at all times, though they had still been sent off with a Colt M1911 and a shock-taser each, just in case.

The speed and efficiency with which the White Harbor laborers had cobbled together the ship's hull was impressive, though not extraordinary: after all, during their first war with Carthage, the Romans had allegedly captured a beached Carthaginian warship and copied it and built a fleet of over twenty _triremes_ and a hundred of the larger _quinqueremes_ out of scratch in just over two months – and all of this despite having no prior experience of seamanship. And just like the nascent Roman Republic in its early days, House Manderly too commanded a lot of resources at their disposal that they were willing to throw at this venture.

Unlike the suspicious, traditionalist lords in south who had opposed Fred's proposed program of modernization, Lord Manderly had personally visited the colony and had seen what was going on with his very own eyes. And while he marveled at everything he could behold, Daniel recognized too a cunning streak, as he had already begun planning in his mind just how he could use the "Sky-People's devices" to turn White Harbor into a world center of trade, to rival Braavos or Volantis.

In particular, he had become fascinated in this idea of 'steamships' after asking Daniel about what kind of ships the 'Sky-Peoples' used, and if all of their vessels could fly like their Dragon-ships and their Falcon-ships. Daniel explained that, yes, many of their ships could fly, but most were still restricted to the oceans of Earth. And while nuclear power and marine diesels were still some time away, steamships (or at least more advanced sailing vessels) were far more accessible to the locals, and thus, this little experiment today to test the feasibility of the _Little Merman_. What had really sold Mr. Manderly on the whole concept was actually, of all things, a painting: _The Fighting Temeraire 1838_ by J.M.W. Turner. The impression made by the sight of a rugged little steamer tugging the largest, most magnificent sailing ship Lord Manderly had ever seen (and bear in mind that, weighing in at over 2,000 tons and toting a hundred guns, the _H.M.S. Temeraire_, a veteran of Trafalgar, was a veritable sea monster compared to any Westerosi ship) was not lost on the Old Walrus' mind.

Lord Manderly had shown his business acumen and foresight (at least by local standards) already, when he had placed orders for several dozen "swivel guns" and their attendant ammunition – these devices had been delivered and were starting to be installed on all of House Manderly's ships so as to deter any pirate attack from the corsairs of the Narrow Sea. He was also now experimenting with this idea of installing each ship with a solar-powered radio, so that ships could warn one another of roving corsairs, inclement weather, and so on. And this was just the beginning.

House Stark may have been the heart and soul of the North, but House Manderly was the real economic powerhouse (well, at least until The Company™ had arrived and brought all those changes to Winterfell). With roughly 50,000 inhabitants, White Harbor was the fourth largest city in all of Westeros, after only King's Landing, Oldtown, and Lannisport (although, of course, it was still _dwarfed_ by the sprawling megacities of Earth or Mars). And it was a show of the city's strength that White Harbor men were the second largest contingent of troops in Robb's growing "First Army Of The North", just ahead of the Boltons' men, and behind only House Stark's own contribution...

"Off course," continued Daniel with the little presentation he was giving to the gathered lords and merchants, "bear in mind that this is a relatively simple design. Once we have your shipyards upgraded to standard, though, the next generation of ships should be easily upgraded to using screw propellers in place of paddlewheels."

He continued: "The main problem right now with coal power is that while the North has a lot of it, we just don't have the infrastructure and labor force in place yet to begin extraction on a mass scale just yet." Daniel had a point: miners from Winterfell had only just opened up the first coal seam (again, of course, with copious amounts of Company™-assistance, and especially with lots and lots of mining explosives), and _The_ _Merman's_ boilers were now quite literally feeding upon the first coal-barge to arrive at White Harbor. Nevertheless, there was a lot of potential in developing coal, oil, and natural gas in the North (though mostly for the Westerosi's own consumption – all of The Company™'s tech ran on fusion reactors which they, for obvious reasons, were unwilling to share with the locals). Long-term, there would inevitably be issues about pollution and air quality and public health and whatnot, but in the mean time, the North would need its fossil fuels to get up to at the very least a respectable level.

"Whatever coal they're extracting right now will be consumed within a few miles of its place-of-origin, so I'm afraid that ocean-going steamships are out of the question for now. But… we do have something in mind that might just suit your needs." Daniel held up his holo-tablet and pulled up a picture to show the Old Walrus. "Her hull length is 212ft (65m), so she's just about pushing the limits of what you can fit inside in your drydocks currently. Once finished, she'll displace over 2,000 metric tons, and can carry 1,500 tons of cargo. In spite of all of this, thanks to her 32,000 square feet of sails, she'll manage 20 knots (23 miles/hr) on a good windy day, possibly more. She requires a minimum crew of 35 trained sailors to operate, which isn't much more than some of your current trading cogs. All in all, she'll be far larger and yet faster at the same time than anything else floating on these waters. A few of these, and you, good sir, will dominate the Narrow Sea shipping industry for years to come. She's called a "clipper". What do you think?"

* * *

_**Footnotes:**_

_The Little Merman is, as stated above, based on Robert Fulton's steamship, with one of the White Harbor shipbuilders even paraphrasing Napoleon's infamous dismissal of Fulton's design. Other ships mentioned in this chapter include: The H.M.S. Temeraire (as well as the famous painting featuring it), and the British clipper Cutty Sark. I don't know how advanced Westerosi shipbuilding is, but it's probably similar to Medieval European level (and even Roman level shipbuilding was already more advanced than we might think)__._


	52. Jon 3

**Jon (III)**

_One small step for a bastard… and a giant leap for the Realm_, thought Jon as he took his first steps off the rear cargo ramp of the Falcon-ship… and out onto the surface _of the Moon_.

He couldn't believe it – not in a thousand lifetimes could he ever have imagined it. It felt… strange, unworldly, completely mad… and yet incredible at the same time. The feeling of weightlessness, of flying with every step; the bleak, empty, quiet, sublime landscape all around him that put even the wilds of the North to shame; and the endless heavens and stars above.

He looked up. There, sure enough, lay the Realm, glowing brightly in the sky as if having traded places with the Moon for the day. Jon blinked again to make sure he wasn't dreaming. No, it was there alright, and he could even faintly make out the shape of Westeros from books and maps he had seen – sure enough, the world was indeed round just like the Moon or the Sun (or 'Epsilon Eridani' as the Sky-People called it).

For as long as he could remember, the world had always seemed flat, and indeed most people thought as such as well (although Jon could now recall that Maester Luwin had once suggested that it was in fact round, based on the work of a handful of ancient Valyrian philosophers like one Eratosthaerys). Well, Jon could now see that they were correct after all. It was impossible to believe, and yet there it lay, floating against the great blackness of the eternal void – Jon held up a hand in front of his face, and for a moment, it looked as if he held the entire Realm in the palm of his hand. For just a moment, he was the King. No, he was more than a King… he felt like a _God_.

"Congrats, _Corporal_ Snow," came the static-laced voice of Sergeant Hawthorne over the radio, "you're now the first man to walk upon the surface of your world's moon."

"You should see your faces!" laughed the voice of that hot-blooded Private Rodriguez over the radio. For a second, Jon wondered how she was able to see his face at all through that helmet he wore, before remembering that each one had a tiny seeing device called a 'camera' installed inside it.

Jon looked back to see the others emerge from the Falcon-ship. In addition to Jon, there were five other men of the White Wolves (that was the name The Company militia had adopted for themselves; they had also adopted Ghost as their mascot, though for today, Ghost himself had to be left back at the colony as they didn't have a spacesuit for him). Jon's new brothers-in-arms, along with three of the Colonial Marines, had come on this mission today to safeguard the research team – not that they expected any trouble, but considering what the other colonies had found on their respective worlds, it had made sense to bring along a security detail.

That, and the sergeant had also petitioned Lords Kovacs and Zimmerman that the honor of being the first to walk on the Moon should go to one of the locals, it being their moon after all. They agreed, and because Jon had already started making a name for himself – due as much to his skill with the rifle as to his blood-ties to the Starks of Winterfell – he was the obvious first choice.

Not only was it incredible to believe that he now walked upon the surface of the Moon, but also that this incredible honor had gone to neither the king nor even a noble knight… but to a simple bastard like he. (Not that this appellation bothered him anymore; among The Company, he'd found something that he had never quite experienced before: acceptance… a world where a man's place within it came from his skill and his iron determination to succeed, and not from the blood in his veins or the status of his parents). All things considered, life in the militia had been very good to him, and he was determined to repay it in kind.

"Jon!" came the voice of Grenn over the radio. "Uh, sorry, I meant _Corporal_, sir! This… this is _amazing!_ Look, _I can fly!_" Jon looked and saw Grenn take a short jump – or what would have been a short jump back in the Realm, but here, he flew no less 40 feet. Grenn landed on his feet, but almost lost his footing and took a tumble in the process.

"Don't get carried away, Private," commanded Jon, sternly. He knew the sergeant would approve of his taking charge of the situation – Jon was one of a handful just recently promoted to corporal, and he was determined to show that their trust in him was not misplaced.

"Yes, sir!" replied Grenn, who quickly fell back into line, standing at attention as best he could manage in these bulky suits of plate they wore. As per their training, Jon, Grenn, and the others unshouldered their rifles, checked them out, and then advanced, combing the area. Right behind them, Jon could see Sergeant Hawthorne and Privates Miroslav "Miro" Blaskowitz and Isabel "Izzy" Rodriguez advancing too: the Sarge and Miro were carrying "Stacker Assault Rifles", while Rodriguez was carrying a much larger "Avenger Squad Automatic Weapon", which was so bulky, it had to be partly supported by her armor.

Jon and the five other White Wolves under his command spread out to scout the area and set up a defensive perimeter. There was no air on the Moon, so they were told, but their fire-arms would still work all the same because the bullets contained some form of alchemy called an "oxidizer". That said, the sarge had also warned them to expect the recoil to be that much more powerful, so under no circumstances were they to discharge these fire-arms unless having first taken the appropriate firing position.

Jon looked down and checked his rifle: it was one of the new "Short Magazine Lee Enfield Mk III" rifles that he, owing to his skill and promotion to Corporal, was now permitted to carry, while the rest of his squad still carried the "Martini-Henry". He then looked up once again and took in all that surrounded him, the great vast expanses of silent, grey, dead, lifeless wasteland, riddled with craters and rocks and ridges.

It had taken only three hours to have reached here aboard the Falcon-ship (for some reason, the Falcon-ship was capable of flying much faster out here than when it was much closer to the ground, for reasons Jon didn't fully understand yet – something about 'air resistance' and 'friction'). The Moon itself was different from anywhere else on the world because it had less of something called "gravity", and no air whatsoever, which is why they had to wear these bulky suits. For his whole life, Jon had always taken the air around him for granted, so to learn that there were places where there was simply none of it at all, that they would have to bring their own from the colony, was a bit of a revelation indeed.

These "spacesuits" that now adorned Corporal Snow and the rest of the White Wolves seemed to resemble the "Mk.-7 Ballistics Armor" worn by the Colonial Marines, but were lighter and more flexible. The helmet on top was similar too, completely enclosed, with only a glass-plated slit on front for the eyes. Upon this tiny window danced those glowing moving pictures that the Sky-People called a "Heads Up Display", displaying all kinds of numbers and information on things like "heart-rate" and "oxygen supplies" and "carbon dioxide" and even a tiny little map on the lower right corner to help him find his way around. The air inside the suit was hot and stuffy and stale, but amidst such a lifeless and dead world, this armor granted him that measure of comfort that came from the feeling of invincibility and that he could take on anything this world and others like it could throw at him.

"That's the last of it, I think," came the voice of Ser Daniel Zimmerman over the radio. Jon looked back: a couple hundred feet away, Daniel and the others had unloaded a number of large boxes from the Falcon-ship.

"Affirmative, Assistant Director Zimmerman," replied the voice of Lady Vaenya. Earlier on the shuttle, Jon had heard one of the Colonial Marines says something to the effect that she did not need a spacesuit, to which she had replied that it "facilitated her interactions with organics", whatever that meant. Even after two months with the Sky-people, there was still so much about them that surprised and confused him.

"We should really start thinking of a proper name for this moon," suggested the voice of Doctor Cristina DiStefano, a visitor from one of the Sky-People's other worlds, "and perhaps for the planet itself as well. We should probably consult the indigenous peoples as to what they would prefer their world to be called."

"Well," remarked Lord Frederick Kovacs, "given the natives' rather uncreative naming convention of just adding '-os' to the end of everything… I dunno, Planetos? Earthos? Terra-Firmos? Mundos? Globos? What about the Moon? Moonos? Lunos? Selenos?"

"Standard UNASEC protocol is to wait until said planet, moon, or planetoid is 'sufficiently populated' (defined by UNASEC to mean: 'a minimum of 1,000 permanent sedentary inhabitants') and only then proceeding to have a poll taken among the colonists," replied Vaenya. She and Lord Kovacs had just returned recently from their second trip to the South, and from what Jon had heard, there was a great turmoil brewing in the south. Someone had tried to kill the Crown Prince, the Queen, even his own father, and it was only thanks to Lady Vaenya that all three had lived – for that, Jon felt grateful to her. She continued: "in our case, however, due to the already-established existence of a Human civilization on Planet EE-L4, UNASEC has ruled that the naming ceremony shall take place once the _UNSV_ _Joseph Conrad_ ISXCT-152 arrives. Until then, the designations 'EE-L4' for the planet itself and 'EE-L4-M1' for its moon shall suffice."

"Fair enough," remarked Fred. "Say, this actually turned out to be a pretty nice outing. Now that our colony has been firmly established, I hope we can spare the resources for more daytrips like this in future… well, provided that they're within the scope of our objectives, of course, and not just for fun. Alright folks; let's gather 'round and take this picture."

With all of this strength, Lord Kovacs drove a tall metal staff straight into the ground. He then stood back. The top of this staff opened up by itself, and split into three separate prongs, from each of which unfurled a single flag. The first of these flags was light blue and bore the white sigil of the "United Nations" upon it: a map of a world (presumably the Sky-People's own) wreathed in olive branches. The second flag was, of course, the golden spiral galaxy sigil of The Company against a dark blue background, complete with The Company's house words ("Here For You; Here For Good") inscribed across it.

The final of the three flags had been added out of respect for their gracious hosts: a fearsome, dark grey direwolf lay against a white background, snarling, with the words "Winter Is Coming" inscribed beneath. For his whole life, Jon had always been looked down upon, always treated like he could never be the equal of his brothers. But in spite of all of this, he had always still looked up to his father for inspiration, and right now, to be seeing the direwolf banner boldly flying where no man had ever gone before – at that moment, he could not have felt more proud to call himself of the North, and, bastard or not, of that ageless and noble bloodline that were the Starks of Winterfell.

Within minutes, Jon and everyone else had been gathered into a large group in front of the flagpole. The Sarge gave instructions to all over the radio, telling some to sit on the ground and some to kneel and the rest to remain standing. Once everyone was in position, they all looked to Lady Vaenya, who held up one of those metal seeing boxes, those "cameras". The whole process took only a few seconds.

The rest of the work to be done was finished in short order: the devices and instruments contained within those boxes controlled themselves for the most part. All that needed to be done was for the team to simply unpack them and leave them on the surface, and then let them do the rest of the work. Meanwhile, Cristina and several others went about exploring the area around the Falcon-ship, collecting rocks and placing them into those clear "plastic bags".

"I'm getting some interesting readings here," interrupted Ray Benton, one of Cristina's assistants, as he held up a boxlike device that made a strange clicking sound that could be heard over the radio. "No more than on L-Zero and L5, but the readings are definitely higher here than on L4 itself."

"A number of ancient Westerosi religious and mythological texts seem to attribute magical properties to nighttime and to lunar activity," chimed in Vaenya, "perhaps there is some small modicum of factual basis to these indigenous superstitions."

"So that's one of our new 'magic detectors', huh?" remarked Fred, "cool. It looks like a Geiger counter."

"It works off a similar principle," explained Ray, "We prefer the term 'thaumometer'. Dr. Garrett's team over on L-Zero cooked it up together with R&amp;D back on Earth. We haven't perfected it yet, but we're working on it; so far, they've proven pretty reliable, at least on L-Zero – not so much here because the 'background thaumic energy' levels are so much lower, though still present."

"Fascinating," said Fred, "well, leave it to Garrett to think up something like this. I imagine all of this must be keeping Ms. Carson and the rest of the legal department chugging coffee 24/7."

"More or less," said Cristina, "bear in mind that we are trying to patent an entirely new 'fundamental force' of the universe, right up there with gravitational, weak nuclear, strong nuclear, and electromagnetic forces."

"Really? That's interesting," remarked Daniel, "so 'magic' isn't just another form of _dark energy_ after all? Similar to the stuff our Trans-Light Drives run on? What about those significant dark matter readings you guys took during our first few days here?"

"That's what we initially thought as well," answered Cristina, "and that could still very well be the case. But if there is a direct connection, we can neither confirm nor deny its existence just yet. To be fair, we've only been here just over three months now: we've been studying Trans-Light Phenomena now for over 130 years now, and we've been studying gravity since Sir Isaac Newton, and we still don't understand fully how either works; I highly doubt that we'll 'solve magic' any faster than we'll 'solve gravity'."

"Well, it's thanks to the efforts of your team and the foundations you guys are establishing that The Company™ will be leaders in this field for years to come," commended Fred. "You know, you should name a unit of measuring magic or something after yourselves!"

Cristina laughed. "I can imagine it now: 'Sir! Magic readings are off the charts! 1.21 GigaGarretts!'"

"Are you guys planning on staying long this time?" interjected Daniel, "We've some pretty interesting 'magical' stuff here on L4 too – like that big wall. VENI says that no Bronze Age culture could have possibly have built it, so they must have been using magic. In fact, she's pretty certain there might still be trace amounts of residual magic up there. We also think there's some magic local fauna north of that wall too… like a humanoid race of necromancing cryokinetics."

"I'd love to stay, but I'm afraid we're needed back on L-Zero soon," remarked Cristina, "I don't know if you've heard yet, but Django and Saito are planning something _enormous_."

"Ya, so I heard," added Fred. "VENI told me about it; her brother, VICI, is helping out on it too. So I guess you guys aren't waiting until the _UNSV Joseph __Conrad_ arrives to begin the first phase?"

"They figured they might as well start early," sighed Cristina, "but mark my words, it'll be fantastic when it's done. After all, any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic, and any sufficiently analyzed magic is indistinguishable from science. For now, we are laying the groundwork, taking baby steps… but every day, we come ever closer to understanding the mysteries of life, the universe, and everything… to peering into the mind of God."

Most of the things these Sky-People had just said had gone right over his head, but Jon still tried to pay attention: a good soldier was always alert and always trying to learn and adapt, and while most of this "science and religion and philosophy stuff" was completely outside of his line of duty as a rifleman, it was nevertheless always good to try to understand just who the Sky-People were as a culture.

And Jon had also heard much said of these other worlds – not just the one from whence the Sky-People themselves had come, but also these three other realms not too far away (well, relatively speaking). There was this "EE-L5", where there was apparently a war going on against a savage people called "Mordor" or something to that effect – the Sarge had mentioned that if things were ever to take a turn for the worst, he and the Colonial Marines would have to be reassigned there, thus leaving the defense of Autumn's Frontier entirely within the hands of Jon and the White Wolves. Then there was this mysterious "EE-L3", where The Company was planning to send a "preliminary reconnaissance mission" soon.

And then there was EE-L0, or "Big Zero" or "L-Zero" as everyone called it. From what Jon understood, this was by far the largest of all of these worlds. It was also the very same world where Brandon was at this moment. Last time Jon had spoken to him over the radio, he had been delighted to hear the voice of his half-brother for the first time in months; Ghost too, instinctively, had perked up in excitement to hear the barking of his littermate (whom Bran had now named "Summer").

Bran, however, had disclosed to Jon something important: that he did not intend to return home immediately. For some odd reason, he wanted to travel to EE-L0 and to L5 first; he wanted to see the wider universe. Jon did not understand his brother's reasoning for this surprising course of action, and his first thought was to petition Lord Kovacs to have Bran returned to Winterfell immediately.

But then Jon found himself thinking of his half-sister Arya, and also of Lady Catelyn. Jon did not harbor any particularly fond memories of her. And while she had been a little more respectful and forthcoming to him ever since that night of the assassin, Jon found that he did not fault Bran nor Arya for their adventurous and rebellious spirit, for their desire to leave their mother's nest. In the end, Jon decided that it should be left to Bran to decide for himself what was best, and while he worried for his safety and well-being, he also knew that wherever he went, he would stay under the firm protection of The Company. And he would always have his direwolf, Summer, with him too.

Once all of the instruments had been unpacked and set up (including a little "Rover", a tiny version of the horseless carriage that could be "remote-piloted"), Fred reached for the final bag. Contained inside were what looked like a bundle of iron rods with a blunt, angled blade at the end, and a cloth bag containing dozens of small white balls, each an inch in size. Jon realized that these were for a markedly different purpose than the other items.

"Alright folks! Gather around!" called Fred over the radio. "So here's the deal: I've got here a set of assorted irons, woods, and a putter with me, and about a hundred _Titleist Exo-Tour_ balls. Each of these babies is equipped with a tracking device. I'll give a thousand Credits to the first one to hit theirs into orbit!"

"Correction, Director Kovacs," interrupted Lady Vaenya, "by applying the formula v = ([2*G*m]/r)^(1/2), where 'G' is the universal gravitational constant, 'm' is the mass of the celestial body in question, and 'r' is the radius, we find that the escape velocity ('v') for EE-L4-M1 is 2,380 m/s, or 8,568 km/h. Even I would be hard-pressed to achieve that velocity, such are the physical limitations of my current platform; I highly doubt that any of you organics would come even close to my physical performance."

"Uh… alright," said Fred, "in which case, the first prize goes to the longest shot!"

Jon and his squaddies watched with some amusement as Lord Frederick got to work on this bizarre little sporting activity of his. Fred placed one of these small white balls on top of a tiny wooden peg driven into the ground. He then shuffled through his collection of clubs, selected one, and took position next to the ball. Checking and adjusting his posture and aim, he shouted "FORE!" and swung. The tiny white ball flew away with great speed, and quickly disappeared against the vast grey landscape.

"2,834 meters (9,297.90ft)," observed Vaenya, "a commendable effort, Director Kovacs… for an organic, that is."

Jon watched in fascination as the Sky-People partook in this sport, this "golf" of theirs; he was even invited to "try out his swing", though Jon respectfully turned down the offer, more content to just watch. Not surprisingly, Lady Vaenya hit the furthest: everyone gave up and stopped tracking her progress after her ball disappeared over the curvature of the horizon and well out of range of their tracking device. Vaenya, however, turned down her prize, declaring something along the lines of "not requiring monetary remuneration to operate", and so Fred instead just declared an open tab for everyone tonight at the colony's newly opened pub once they got back.

The team stayed out and about for another hour or so before finally getting bored. Once the Sky-Peoples were content with the samples they had collected and the instruments they had left behind on the Moon's surface, everyone loaded back up into the Falcon for the three-hour voyage home.

* * *

_**Footnotes:**_

_1\. I am operating under the assumption that to the extent that EE-L4 is supposed to feel like being on Earth, thus, EE-L4-M1 (or "Moonos" if you want to call it that) is supposed to feel like being on Earth's Moon, with similar gravity conditions applying._

_2\. The "**ancient Valyrian philosopher Eratosthaerys**" is based on the ancient Greek scientist **Eratosthenes**, who not only knew the Earth was round, but attempted to calculate is circumference. Contrary to popular belief, the idea that Earth is round was actually relatively well known in the Medieval Ages, in large part thanks to the works of Greek and Roman scientists and philosophers. Even the great Medieval Italian poet Dante Alighieri famously featured a round Earth and not a flat one in his **Divine Comedy.**_

_3\. **Alan Shepard**, the first American in space and the 5th person on the Moon, famously hit a pair of golf balls during the **Apollo 14 mission in 1971** with a 6-iron. We don't know just how far exactly he hit – he claimed "miles and miles", but modern estimates put the length of Commander Shepard's drive at certainly no more than 400m, even in spite of the huge advantages of low gravity, as he was disadvantaged by being heavily encumbered by his bulky spacesuit when he took the swing. In this story, however, the UN and Company™ personnel are all wearing futuristic spacesuits that are more advanced, much lighter, and more form-fitting than the ones worn by NASA astronauts in the 1960's and 70's._


	53. The Mayor of Wintertown 1

**The Mayor Of Winter Town (I)**

"Hear ye, hear ye!" yelled the town crier, ringing a bell in one hand. He was standing on the fountain in the center of the busy marketplace of Winter Town, and he seemed to have drawn quite the audience. "I presenteth thee all the most breaking of news!" he continued, "A most abominable conspiracy hath taken place in the southe! Our noble Lord Ned Stark hath been attacketh in the streets of King's Landing, and now lies injured at the hands of the vile villain that art Ser Jaime, the Kingslayer of House Lannister!" The gathered audience booed collectively at this announcement.

The town crier smiled at all of this sensationalist attention he was drawing, and continued: "Forsooth! The noble Jory Cassel hath giveth his life in the defense of our liege lord, and now lies dead, butcherede by the loathsome Kingslayer! 'Tis only thanks to the noble heroics of Lord Kovacs and Lady Venya of The Most Noble And Esteemed Companie that our liege lord still walks amongst the living! Hath these treacherous Lannisters no honor? Tell me, mine noble northern brethren: wilst thou tolerate such outrageous offenses?"

"NAE!" cried the crowd in response – well, some of them at least. Most of them were just booing, or shouting less flattering but certainly more creative suggestions as to just what exactly Ser Jaime Lannister should do with his sword.

"Hark, verily!" yelled the town crier and continued, "neither do I! But our thanks and prayers go yon out to ye Olde Gods that our liege lord maketh a most expediente recoverie, so that he may deliver ye King's Justice unto the duplicitous Kingslayer!" The crowd roared in approval. "Remember: thyselves hath heard it first from I, Bryan the Carver, ye moste faire and balancede source of news in ye North! And now, a worde from my good sponsors. Come to the Smoking Log, ye finest and moste reputable establishmente in all yon North…"

Daryl Mollen watched the entire scene unfold with a mix of both bemusement and slight trepidation. Yes, on one hand, one couldn't help but feel amused watching the impact all this 'mass media' and 'populist rhetoric' could have on the great masses of uneducated and impressionable smallfolk.

But on the other hand, unfortunate as it was, everything the crier had said was _true_. The politics of the capital had always been something distant and of little concern to the smallfolk – content to till their fields, to live and love and otherwise heed little care for who was winning and who was dying in the Game Of Thrones. But the advent of urban 'cosmopolitan' living, of industry and commerce, and of all these funny foreign ideas like 'journalism' and 'nationalism' – all of these had helped bring the gritty realities of Southron corruption and politics right into the realm of the smallfolk for the very first time. Daryl had even overheard some men in the Smoking Log one night discussing the merits of Northern independence – something for which he should have rightfully have reported them for treason, had he not found himself in agreement with many of their points.

Indeed, Lord Robb and his new council of all the major lords and noble houses of the North (Robb himself called it his "Planning Committee", but all who heard of it knew it was a Small Council in all but name) had all been just as outraged by the news as the Smallfolk. Unless the King's Justice could be meted out to Ser Jaime (and anyone who had ever heard of the Lannisters knew for a fact that this was unlikely), it was becoming increasingly clear that war was inevitable – it was no longer a question of _if_, but _when_.

To this end, Robb had been stepping up the resources and time he was pouring into his new "First Army Of The North." There were already 10,000 men encamped outside Winterfell (their very presence, their hunger for both food and flesh had been a considerable boon to the local economy), Lord Robb had discussed extensively the possibility – nay, the _necessity_ – of raising an additional 10,000 levies. There were also plans in the works to dispatch the newly created 'First Engineer Corps Of The North' ahead to begin repairing and restoring the fortifications at Moat Cailin.

Meanwhile, the Dustins, the Mormonts, the Flints, and the Manderlies had all been ordered to begin refurbishing their land-based coastal defenses in somewhat grim and solemn recognition of the fact that the North had never been and would never be a major naval power (although to this Lord Wyman Manderly had respectfully dissented; he was particularly enthusiastic about these new 'swivel guns' and 'radios' he had been ordering from The Most Noble And Esteemed Company by the dozen, and he was certain that within a few years, not even the Braavosi or the Volantenes would be able to challenge the naval supremacy of White Harbor).

All of this mobilization was sure to not have gone unnoticed in the South, and Gods-only-know the reaction to be had by the Old Lion of Casterly Rock – him and the rest of his accursed family – that traitorous Kingslayer, that horrid bitch of a Queen, and that monstrous little Imp. The Lions were not known for their leniency and complacency, but at the same time, Lord Robb felt his hand had been forced – by both the assassination attempt on his brother, and now by this news of the Kingslayer's unprovoked attack on his father – and the First Army Of The North was the only viable long-term solution in maintaining not just House Stark's claim to the North, but its very existence.

All in all, it was things like these that made Daryl Mollen thankful that he had been appointed, by Lord Robb himself, to handling important matters _other_ than warfare. Daryl, you see, was a member of House Mollen, and a cousin to Hallis Mollen, the new Master Of Arms at Winterfell ever since Jory Cassel had made south with Ned. He had never been in the primary line of succession, and though he was his father's firstborn and would therefore inherit his holdings, the total sum of that did not amount to much; it would be his cousins like Hollis who would take the Mollen name and whatever little land holdings they had.

But Daryl had found his calling in life in other ways. He may not have had many prospects going for him, and his skill with the sword was average at best. But he was very good with the pen and parchment, more well read, and far more astute at bookkeeping than most other noblemen, and for this reason, he had been Lord Robb's first choice to be appointed to the newly-created office of "Mayor Of Winter Town" – a necessity, Robb recognized, now that Winter Town had become the strategic center of Robb's vision of "the New North". In short, Daryl Mollen was one of the first of a new class of people seldom before seen in the North: the "civil service".

That had been a truly life-changing event for him. Daryl was not a "Ser", as the Southrons' tradition of knighthood did not run strongly among those who still followed the Old Gods. And unless an entire branch of his family had been unceremoniously killed off at, say, a _wedding_ or something, he would in all likelihood never hold the title "Lord" either. But "Mayor"? Now that was a title that Daryl could wear with zeal! And as such he conducted himself, always astute, on top of things, and very particular in his presentation; he had even adopted some of the foreigners' clean and prim styles of vestiments for himself. He took great pride in his work, and while he may not have been wielding the sword or tilling the fields, he was, in his own way, contributing his fair share of the work towards 'the New North'.

It was true, however, that not all of those in the North were particularly keen and open towards this revolution. Some of the older generations among the nobility had even, tactfully, questioned Robb's dedication to the Old Ways of the First Men (and, implicitly, his devotion to his father's legacy). But Daryl Mollen and most of the younger generation remained supportive of their liege lord's son and heir. And perhaps precisely because he was so much more well read that any of his peers, Daryl could recognize that change for the North was not only inevitable, but _necessary_.

The market of Winter Town had become just such a symbol of the promises the future had in store. It was still the height of summer, and yet the town square was crowded beyond belief, as merchants plied their wares and cried and shouted, noisily jostling for the attention of the smallfolk. Farmers sold their produce, while Essosi merchants, drawn from across the Narrow Sea by the tales of the riches and wonders of the Sky-People, peddled silks and spices and other exotic goods that few in the North had ever seen before. The people of the North were traditionally an austere bunch, even the nobility, but the sudden flow of gold and goods and the availability of cheaper fabrics and dyes had all had a profound impact on the variety of clothes and colors one could see about the marketplace.

All around Winter Town, new houses were springing up, while old ones were receiving a makeover. Old, decayed, thatched roofs were slowly giving way to newer tiled roofs thanks to the sudden glut of iron nails and hammers and other tools in the marketplace. Some of these houses had even received… why, _glass windows_ of all things! And as of late, there was a sudden craze among the populace for those new iron stoves – it was as if everyone simply had to have one. And Daryl would never forget the look of delight in the eyes of his wife Aelizabyth on the day he had purchased as a gift for her, at no small expense, one of those new "sewing machines".

Having contented himself on indulging in all the fabulous sights and sounds and smells of the marketplace, Mayor Daryl Mollen took a look at the new clocktower and decided it was time to get to work – which was easy enough, as the town hall of Winter Town was right next to the market square. It was an old hall, dating back, so it was said, to the time of Brandon The Builder himself, and so it came as little surprise that such a small town would have a fairly large and impressive stone great hall, large enough to seat a thousand people, at the heart of it. As with the Wall and with Winterfell, it seemed that the illustrious forefather of House Stark had quite a penchant for over-compensating for something. Traditionally, this had been a place where generations of Northern smallfolk could gather in the heart of the winter years to keep warm and trade ancient heroic tales of swords and sorcery. Now, it had become the center of civic administration.

One of the smaller rooms branching out of the main hall had been appropriated by Daryl Mollen as his personal office. There, he found Maester Jeremy waiting for him. "Greetings, Maester," he spoke, "I trust you're doing well?"

"Good day, m'lord, very well indeed," replied the Maester – a younger man, barely out of training at the Citadel.

The Mayor and the Maester then took their seats at the great oak desk. The Maester already had his books and papers ready; Daryl took a minute to unlock his secure cabinet and retrieve the relevant documents. Meanwhile, Desmera, their serving girl, arrived with a steaming pot of tea and a plate of warm biscuits, fresh from the baker's shop just down the street.

Maester Jeremy began. "First order of business for the day, m'lord: I am happy to report that Maesters Donner, Sif, Volstagg, Fandral, and Hogun arrived safely last night at Deepwood Motte from Oldtown; their sea voyage was surprisingly uneventful – I suppose the Ironmen were of little hindrance to them. Lord Glover is kindly hosting them on Lord Stark's behalf until they can secure road passage here."

"Excellent, thank you," replied Daryl, "it pleases me to hear that they have arrived safely. We will have to make sure their accommodations at the Academy are ready by tomorrow then. Speaking of which, what is the current status of the Academy's campus?"

"Renovations of the Broken Tower are almost complete, m'lord," replied the Maester. "Lady Catelyn was quite supportive of the project - I daresay that mayhaps, in her view at least, turning the old Broken Tower into the Academy Of The North is helping her cope with ... what happened to Brandon."

"Indeed," observed Daryl. Whether Brandon had simply slipped and fallen, or whether there was some element to truth to the rumor that it was the Lannisters who had done it, it seems that populating the abandoned tower was part of Lady Stark's way of coping with her grief. Daryl silently wished Bran a quick recovery, and was glad to hear that he was now awake, though it would be a few months more before he returned.

Maester Jeremy continued, "the young ladies will be hosted at Winterfell itself, under Lord Robb's protection. The young gentlemen, however, will have to be accommodated here in Winter Town, until we can complete the dormitories."

"Are we expecting many students?"

"In future, yes. But for now, we've selected about a hundred children from across the various families of the North. We have tried to make sure that, um, _every_noble family is represented by at least one student … some, like the Manderlies, will of course have more than one slot reserved for them."

"_Every_ noble family?" remarked Daryl, "including, ahem, uh, _them?_"

"Yes," replied Maester Jeremy, "the Dreadfort is the third largest contributor to the 'First Army Of The North', after only Winterfell and White Harbor. Lord Robb felt it would be a … uh … a slight to Lord Bolton not to extend the same invitation to his, uh, his _family_ as well."

"Oh, great," quipped Daryl, "wonderful. That kid. I suppose we'll now have to post guards in every classroom and dorm-room as well. I scarcely imagine Lords Karstark and Manderly would take too kindly to having their daughters Alys and Wylla schooled in the same room as that bastard."

"I did voice my concerns to Lord Robb," replied the Maester, "and he suggested that every son or daughter be accompanied by at least one bannerman from their house – to act as a 'personal attendant', or in other words, a bodyguard."

Daryl sighed. "I suppose that's the most we can do short of slighting Lord Roose. When do classes commence?"

"About a couple months from now," replied Jeremy. "We'll start with the basics – reading, writing, simple arithmetic, and history and folklore of the North. The more advanced topics – medicine, law, natural philosophy and so on – well…" He sighed before continuing… "I'm afraid to admit this, but it seems that the Sky-People have proven that most of what we Maesters knew about the world, or at least what we thought we knew about it… was... was just not the case." He spoke this last statement with some resignation. "The universe is just too different from what we had imagined it to be. If and when more of the Sky-People arrive … well, the days of the Order of Maesters are… are numbered."

"Don't worry, there will always be a place for the Maesters, my friend," replied Daryl. "Your Order will just have to adapt, to... (what's the word the Sky-People use?)… to _evolve_. But the Order has been around for thousands of years; I am certain they will be with us for quite some time to come."

As part of his program of "modernization", Lord Robb had requested the Order Of Maesters to send several of their members north; the Kingdom Of The North would be in need of a learned class of bureaucrats, teachers, advocates, and doctors, and until the next generation of Northern lords and ladies could be educated as such, the Maesters were about the best thing Westeros had to offer. Admittedly, and even Maester Jeremy conceded this point, the knowledge the Sky-People brought in terms of their "sciences" and their "economics" and "social studies"… it far surpassed anything the Maesters had to offer. It was certainly true that the lowliest and most humble of the Sky-People they had met so far still commanded a wealth of knowledge in the sciences, medicine, and engineering that put the wisest and most learned Maesters to shame. But even in this brave new world, Daryl was certain that the Maesters would still hold a valuable place in the Realm, at least for quite some time to come.

Mayor Daryl and Maester Jeremy spent the rest of the day going over the other important matters of business. The first census of Winterfell, Winter Town, and the surrounding hinterlands was almost complete. But by now, it had become clear that, even excluding the 10,000 troops encamped just outside the walls of Winterfell, the population of the town had grown to fully twice what they had expected. If this rate of immigration continued, Winter Town could very well be accommodating 20,000 people by the next winter. This was troubling for Daryl, because he had recently been reading up on the Sky-Peoples' books, on things such as "public sanitation" and "urban planning" and "waste disposal". 20,000 people was nowhere near the levels of White Harbor or, for that matter, Oldtown or King's Landing, but it was certainly enough that much thought would have to be put towards new infrastructure, and perhaps expanding the Winter Town Watch to control and police all those additional people.

Next order of business was to work on the plans for the town's new ironworks, which Daryl was to go over with the Guild of Ironworkers tomorrow. And the day after, it would be the newly formed Guild of Miners, to discuss plans for the expansion of the new coalmine they had just recently opened up nearby. Just a few days before, an officer from some knightly order of the Sky-People called "the UN" had come to Winter Town to give a "PowerPoint presentation" on these thing called "workplace safety regulations" to the Guild of Miners. He had also brought some gifts for the mining guild (or 'UN developmental aid' as he called it) in the form of fifty helmets, and fifty pairs of boots and gloves. He had also gifted them ten of these little boxlike devices he called "canaries" that would issue a warning sound whenever the coalmine had become too dangerous and needed to evacuated immediately. These boxes were apparently named as such after the little birds that the Sky-People used to use in their own coalmines back in their distant past.

Anyway, after the miners' guild, Daryl would next be meeting with a band of Braavosi merchants traveling up from White Harbor were interested in some form of trade deal. Indeed, from what he had heard, Lord Wyman's new toy had caused quite a stir in White Harbor, and it would not be long before the word had spread across all of the Free Cities.

Halfway through the day, Maester Jeremy had to excuse himself and head off to Winterfell to meet Maester Luwin and inspect the work on the Academy. Daryl was left alone, but he didn't mind it – now that the day's most important works had been done, he could continue with his 'research work', of reading up on the Sky-People and their many great accomplishments. This was the part of his line of work that Daryl enjoyed most – their histories and philosophies on art, science, and economics appealed to his interests as much as any heroic tale of The Last Hero, or of the tragic heroes of Old Valyria, would to every young nobleman aspiring to knighthood.

And before Daryl knew it, the day was over. The clocktower bell rang at 6 o'clock, signaling the end of today's work cycle. He gathered up his papers, locked his office, saluted the night watchmen on duty from the Winter Town Watch, and went off on his way home. With all the influx of people into Winter Town, the crime rate had gone up. But the Town Watch had also been increased to fifty full-time members, with plans to hire more on a need basis, like when the populace was expected to grow during winter.

That, and Daryl was confident he could protect himself against most lowly thugs – yes, he wore a sword on his belt as a symbol of his rank. But what he was really proud of was something else he carried: in his pocket, there was a so-called _"pistol"_ – a smaller version of the Sky-People's fire-arms. Lord Robb had received a dozen of these 'smallarms' as gifts from Lord Kovacs, and he had, in turn, gifted them to a handful of his most important and most trusted lords of his inner circle – that Daryl was one of these select few meant something special to him personally. But he knew it was also a symbol of things to come: no longer did the fate of the North lie in the hands of old blooded warriors. No, the times they were a-changin', and the future of the North would belong to people like Daryl Mollen, the First Mayor of Winter Town!

As he walked the few short blocks from his office to his home, to the waiting embrace of his dear wife and their children, Daryl could hear the town crier still out and about. "Hear ye, hear ye!" he addressed the gathered people. "I now bringeth thee yon evening news! What I am about to sayeth next mayhaps seem to thee all a fabrication of the mind, but I kiddeth thee not! I hath heard it from a moste reliable source at yon Autumne's Frontiere that Lord Kovacs and Ser Zimmerman hath flown to the Moon aboard their mighty Falcon-ship! And that chief amongst their honor guard was none other than Jon Snow – yes, thou hath heard it correctly, ye very own bastard son of our liege lord Ned! Stay attuned in for the details, but first, verily, a word from my goode sponsors. Come to the Smoking Log, ye finest and moste reputable establishmente in all ye North…"

* * *

_**Footnotes:**_

_1\. Daryl Mollen is the first original POV character among the Westerosi, created as an avenue for exploring the idea__ of social and political change__. House Mollen is a minor house from canon, and Daryl, as a cousin of the primary line of primogeniture, does not stand to gain much through traditional means. Furthermore, he is more bookish and less of a fighter than his fellow nobility. However, as "Mayor of Winter Town", he enjoys a newfound position of power and influence that hadn't existed before. _

_2\. In our history's 19th century, the introduction of sewing machines was a major revolution in the household, because they reduced considerably the number of hours women (whose place in traditionalist societies was in the home) had to spend on housework, and thus may have helped contribute to women's political movements in the early 20th century by enabling them to be more active in politics. Perhaps we shall see Daryl's wife Aelizaebyth become a 'mover and shaker' herself, at least within Winter Town high society?_

_3\. The "modern clothing" that Daryl mentions is probably "modern" by Westerosi standards but to us would look more like something the cast of Les Miserables would wear. Just imagine Daryl wearing something similar to Jean Valjean but with House Mollen's sigil on the shirt, and bingo!_


	54. Tywin 1

**Tywin (I)**

_"__And so he spoke, and so he spoke,  
That Lord of Castamere,  
But now the rains weep o'er his halls,  
With no one there to hear.  
Yes, now the rains weep o'er his halls,  
With not a soul to hear!" _

Hearing such stirring, powerful music emanating from the gathered drummers and trumpeters, surveying before him an epic vista of thousands of men in gleaming armor, assembled in battle formation… any other man than Lord Tywin Lannister would have smiled at such a display of power and wealth in his hands. But no, he did not smile. He never smiled at all, not since his beloved Joanna was killed by that wretched creature he disdained to call his son. But even if Tywin could ever find it within himself to smile, there was little right now to be pleased about.

The news of the poisoning had hit the Rock like, well, a rock. Lord Tywin applauded himself for keeping a straight and stoic face throughout the entire revelation, but inside, he was deeply shocked and enraged. Someone, somewhere, had tried to take the lives of his two children and his grandson – someone had attacked the very foundations of Tywin's legacy. Had this assassin had things his way, the Halfman would have been all that remained of Tywin's blood, and that was a reality he could not bear to fathom.

No, the Old Lion would never allow a slight of this kind to stand, not in a thousand lifetimes. And so no sooner had Maester Pycelle's raven arrived from the capital, then another three dozen ravens went out, out to all the lords and ladies of the Westerlands, calling them to arms, ordering them all to assemble at Casterly Rock within a couple fortnight's time. At this point, he knew not who it was behind the vile and cowardly act, not yet… but whoever it may have been, the Old Lion was determined to teach this individual the meaning of his favorite song. Now was as good a time as any for a show of strength, and even if war never came (though that was unlikely by this point), just the sight of so many formidable men and horse arranged before the Rock was sure to send a clear message throughout the Seven Kingdoms… and perhaps beyond as well, if these Sky-People really were from as far afield as they claimed.

Now, that said, the Old Lion did harbor a few suspicions of his own as to the identity of the culprit. Officially, the reports from the capital seemed conflicted over whether it had been Lord Petyr Baelish or Targaryen Loyalists. But at the same time, Lord Tywin could not help but notice just how conveniently this attack had come at a time when the North had begun rearming itself for war. Rumors and tales from traders who had been up there spoke of the immeasurably vast power of the Sky-People, of "fire-arms" that could spit bolts of flaming iron and brass over hundreds of yards and penetrate even the thickest of knightly plate, and other wonders and marvels that both amazed and shook them to the core.

And among these rumors were vague whisperings in the air, that there was now talk of "Northern Independence" and other aspirations, or that Lord Stark's dealings with the Sky-People and his newfound office had awakened within him a newfound ambition, a lust for power and for a crown for himself, and that this new army his son was raising was for that express purpose. Perhaps the attempt on Joffrey's life had part of a greater plot to put the younger and more easily impressionable Tommen on the Iron Throne? If that truly was the case, then Tywin could only curse the day His Grace had rebuked his bid for the Handship, first in favor of that old man of the Vale, and then again in favor of that wild and duplicitous Northman. Now, the entire Realm was to pay the price for King Robert's poor judgment.

But regardless of how powerful these Sky-People were or not, and regardless of Lord Stark's intentions, Tywin had already made up his mind that no good could come out of a Realm where the power of the Rock was secondary to that of Winterfell. No, sooner or later, these rabid wolves would have to be put back in their rightful place, and there was no other man in all the Realm for this momentous task than the Lion of The Lannisters himself. If and when the war came, Lord Tywin realized that it would be the defining moment in the Realm's history for years to come… (and perhaps too, he reasoned, what would define his legacy for centuries after his own mortal life had ended).

Thus far, 12,000 men-at-arms were assembled before him, in the fields that lay between the Rock and Lannisport. It was a promising start: more troops were arriving by the day, and the final army would be far larger. Among the levies of Casterly Rock and Lannisport, one could also find Ser Addam Marbrand and a thousand riders from Ashemark, who had made for the Rock with haste; the bulk of the Marbrand forces, particularly their infantry, would as yet take a few more weeks to muster. There the Kennings of Kayce were also here in force, as were several thousand men of Clegane's Keep, proudly flying the three dogs courant in pale sable. Finally, there were about a thousand men of the Lannisport City Watch, looking resplendent in their gleaming armor – these men had been diverted to the war effort for the simple fact that they were some of the finest and most disciplined troops in all of the Realm, and the Old Lion needed them to set an example for the other men to follow.

Meanwhile, the mustering of this great force was already drawing the attention of hundreds of sellswords, freebooters, and hedge knights, who were all assembling in a makeshift camp of their own at the end of the field, and hundreds more were sure to join up once this vast host was ready to march. Not since Robert's Rebellion would the Realm see such a great force to be reckoned with as this!

As the men ordered themselves into drill formation before the blasts of great war-horns and the shouts of their field commanders, Tywin left command to his subordinates, and then strode off purposefully into the main command tent, pitched up at the end of the parade grounds. At once, the men seated around the great oaken table inside all stood up and extended their right arms straight forward in the iconic Lannister Salute. "Hail Tywin!" they called out in unison, "Hail victory!"

Lord Tywin acknowledged their presence and, without saying anything, beckoned the men to be seated. He then took his own seat and looked left and then right, up and down the length of the table. Most of the seats were empty – the various lords and sers who would be filling them were either still at home, calling their banners, or else still en route to the Rock. Those who were present however included the following: first, to the left, there was Lord Tywin's younger brother, Ser Kevan Lannister, whose son and heir Lancel was currently paging in the capital to His Grace. Next to him was seated his brother-in-law, Ser Stafford Lannister, and his own son, Ser Daven. Further to his left were seated Ser Benedict Broom, Casterly Rock's Master Of Arms, and Maester Creylin, who was here to assist in the all important bookkeeping and logistics that inevitably followed a massing of men and materiel of this scale.

To Tywin's immediate right was seated Ser Addam Marbrand; his father, Lord Damon Marbrand, was raising additional troops at the Ashemark, but Ser Addam had ridden on ahead to the Rock with a force of no less than a thousand cavalry, with the infantry still en route. Next to him sat Ser Kennos of Kayce, who had arrived commanding the Kayce bannermen on behalf of Lord Terrence Kenning, and next to him, the big, boorish Ser Lyle Crakehall, as well as Ser Andros Brax of the Hornvale.

Finally, across from Lord Tywin sat the young and charming Ser Raynald Westerling, who had ridden ahead with Ser Marbrand while his father remained at The Crag, raising the expected tithe of men, horse, and provisions delegated upon him. Next to him were seated Lord Regenard Estren, commander of the Wyndhall levies, as well as Sers Manfryd Yew and Raynard Ruttiger. And towering above them all sat none other than the dreaded Mountain himself, Ser Gregor Clegane, who had just arrived the day before from the capital (looking, Tywin could not help but notice, like he had never seen him before – greatly disheveled, subdued, _distressed_ even. Tywin had of course heard the story of what had happened to Ser Clegane, but he could not have believed it, not until he saw the Mountain for himself).

Having taken note of who was present and who was still absent, the Old Lion proceeded to get down to business. "Well, what news have you to report, Ser Marbrand?" he spoke in his stern, unwavering voice.

"My lordship," began Ser Addam, standing up. He was about Ser Jaime's age, and a childhood friend at that, and Lord Tywin knew that he was also an able and dependable lieutenant. "The band of Essosi Sellswords you requested have arrived. Their leader awaits your audience as we speak. I can send for him now if you please."

"Essosi bounty hunters?" spat Ser Lyle Crakehall in disdain, "we don't need their scum!"

"They have their uses," replied Lord Tywin sternly. He turned back to Ser Addam. "Send for him."

"Yes, m'lord," replied Ser Marbrand. He stood up, saluted his liege lord, and exited the tent. Minutes later, he returned, with a rather bizarre looking man._Typical Essosi savages_, thought Tywin. The man was tall and gaunt, with a foot-long goatee dangling from the tip of his pointed chin. Around his neck he wore a chain made from dozens of different coins from all over Westeros and Essos. When he spoke, Tywin could see that his tongue was swollen, giving this otherwise shrewd individual an almost comical lisp. Finally, emblazoned on the front of his tunic was the black goat of Qohor. From this, Tywin knew exactly who he was immediately.

_Oh, Seven bloody Hells_, thought Tywin, _these fellows_. Yes, he had heard of these men alright.

"Thir! Vargo Hoat, at your thervith!" spoke the Qohorik. He bowed slightly and grinned. "The Brave Companionth of Ethoth are yourth to command! Juth give uth the order and we'll thlaughter your enemieth! We of courth tharge a fee for our generouth thervithes, but I'm thure you'll find uth well worth your inithal invethmenth!"

"Um… yes, that will do," spoke Tywin, recognizing this Sellsword's usefulness on the field but at the same time wanting him removed from his sight in a most expedient manner. He turned to Ser Benedict Broom and gave him orders: "See to it that the Bloody Mum… er, _the Brave Companions_ are adequately fed and housed with the rest of the men. I am certain we shall be in need of his services shortly."

"Yes, my lordship," replied Ser Broom. He saluted Tywin, stood up, and led the Qohorik back out through the flaps.

As he was led out, the Qohorik turned to look back at Tywin one last time and spoke: "thank you for choothing to do bithneth with the Brave Companionth! We hope you'll find our thervitheth quite thatithfactory!"

When he was gone, Tywin calmly but surely pressed his right palm to his forehead, shook his head, and sighed. "Tell me, Ser Marbrand," he spoke, "what exactly is the meaning of this? Was this the best you could find on such short notice?"

"If it please you, my liege, we can find alternatives," replied the Knight of the Ashemark. "But I assure you: as ill-reputed as they are, one cannot say that the Bloody Mummers are not extremely effective at what they do. For the right amount of gold, well, I would pity the very land upon which they tread!"

"Very well, Ser Marbrand, I will trust your judgment for now. Now, what other news is there to report?"

"Well, we have reports coming in from Lord Leo Lefford at the Tooth," continued Ser Addam. "It would appear that word of our impromptu mobilization may have reached Riverrun by now."

"Ah? How so?" inquired Tywin.

"Lord Lefford claims that a couple horsemen of the Vances and the Pipers of Pinkmaiden have been sighted, patrolling the border over these last few days. I suppose Lord Hoster has heard of our troop deployments and ordered his bannermen to investigate. To be entirely fair, my liege, the movements of tens of thousands of men and horse and supply wagons is not something that can be easily concealed, not especially if House Tully have spies within our midst."

"Well, it would not surprise me," remarked Lord Tywin, "but it is far more likely they caught wind of rumors and the words of travelers and merchants plying the routes between here and Riverrun." He paused, considering this, before continuing. "But either way, this changes nothing of our overall strategy."

"Lord Brother, what do you mean by 'changes nothing'?" inquired Ser Kevan in a slightly worried tone, ever the cautious one. "If Lord Hoster Tully begins to suspect our intentions…"

But Tywin quickly cut him off. "Lord Hoster's sentiments do not concern me, Brother, and neither do those of that poor excuse for a general he happens to call his son and heir. No, they have never been of any consequence to me, nor will they ever be. If House Tully is not with us when we march … if they choose to put themselves between us and our objective … well, that means they are simply making themselves an obstruction to the King's Justice, and thus, they too would be our enemies."

Ser Kevan was visibly surprised by his brother's hawkishness. "Brother, surely you do not mean… uh… would His Grace truly sanction such a… _an unprovoked attack_ on a neutral Great House?"

"It depends on His Grace," replied the Old Lion, matter-of-factly. "In any case, you presume that such an attack would be 'unprovoked' in the first place. Worry yourself not, brother; the appropriate arrangements will have been made when comes the time." Ser Kevan and some of the others were still not entirely sure of this, so Lord Tywin took the extra step of addressing the rest of the table. "Gentlemen," he began, "I see the doubt in your faces. Let me remind you all exactly what it is we are gathered here today for, ready to fight and put our lives and those of our bannermen on the line.

"A most vile and insidious act has transpired in the capital. My beloved son and daughter and grandson – your future liege lord, your Queen, and your future King, in case you have all forgotten – were betrayed from within and almost killed. Let me ask you: are we to sit idly back and let this offense go unpunished? Are we to… bury our heads in the sand while the perpetrators of this cowardly act marshal their forces, ready to seize the initiative while we bicker and squabble amongst ourselves? Nay, I say! An attack on the Royal Family is an act of treason and an attack on everything we stand for, and sooner or later, these traitors will hear us roar, and learn that a Lannister always pays his debts."

Tywin let the effect of his speech sink in for a minute before continuing. "Now, that said, is there any other business to attend to?"

When no one answered, Lord Tywin declared this council adjourned and dismissed everyone else for the day. Only Ser Addam remained in the tent: this meant that he had additional news to bring to Lord Tywin's attention – news that was best presented in private for his scrutiny before being dispersed to any of the other gathered bannermen. He suspected he already knew what exactly this news would concern.

"I presume you have information pertaining to this 'parley with the Sky-People' my daughter spoke of," said Tywin.

"You presume correctly, my liege," replied Ser Addam, "about an hour ago, a raven arrived from the capital."

Tywin could see where this was going. "Ah, so they will be arriving very soon?"

"Yes, my lord. They wish to keep this meeting… _discreet_, shall we say? We are to confer with them at a rendezvous point ten miles up the river from here, in the direction of Sarsfield. This meeting is to take place at the noon of the 13th – I believe that's two days from now, if I am not mistaken."

Tywin took a minute to digest all of these details. "Very well. We shall have need of a guard then. Speak with Ser Broom, but no one else."

"Yes, my lord. Well, if it please you, I can provide twenty of my personally hand-selected guardsmen, the finest Ashemark has to offer."

"You'll need a lot more than twenty of your finest men if the Iron Lady is with them," shot Tywin, well aware of Ser Vylarr's fate in King's Landing – it was almost a miracle that the only ones killed that day were those slain by the wolves. "Well, not that I expect it to come to that, but we all must be prepared for every eventuality."

"You don't suppose…?" began Ser Addam, but Tywin cut him off.

"I suppose nothing, Ser Marbrand. But from the tone of my daughter's message, it seems that this Lord Kovacs has taken an active interest in dealing with us. Perhaps he and his Iron Lady need not make themselves out to be our enemies after all."


	55. Tywin 2

**Tywin (II)**

Ten miles from Casterly Rock, along the River Road, there is a clearing by the river. It was this spot that the Sky-People had somehow come to learn of, and as such had chosen it as their meeting place for today. This was the message that his daughter had conveyed to him by a secure raven provided by Maester Pycelle, and though Tywin was suspicious and apprehensive as usual, the fact that these words could only have come directly from Cersei herself, and that somehow, Jaime too would be joining them today, that was enough to make the Old Lion agree to the foreigners' demands.

This negotiation was to be kept discreet and civil, in theory, and as such, this Lord Kovacs of the Sky-People had given his assurances that no-one would be armed. But Tywin took no chances pertaining to his personal security, and so he had ridden out from the Rock with no less than a hundred men, all a-horse, all armed with crossbows, under the guise of a training exercise. He was well aware of the fate that had befallen Ser Vylarr's men in the capital not three weeks earlier, and had decided that, should push really come to shove, then perhaps a change in tactics was necessary. As such, the men had been instructed to keep their distance, and not to engage unless their liege lord's life was in clear and imminent danger.

It was midday when the party arrived at the spot, the sun high in the sky. Most of the men dismounted and kept their horses tied up in the woods, as per Cersei's instruction, as the great roar and sight of this mighty "Falcon-ship" of the foreigners was sure to put them to panic and thus risk injury. The men then gathered at the edge of the clearing, in their tight and disciplined formations, armor gleaming in the sun's light, banners fluttering, proudly displaying the golden lion upon the crimson red of House Lannister.

Content that he had somewhere to fall back to on the off-chance that these negotiations turn sour, Tywin then strode out into the field, golden armor shining resplendently, red cape billowing in the wind, accompanied by his able lieutenant Ser Addam Marbrand, as well as Sers Stafford Lannister and Raynald Westerling. Absent from this meeting would be his brother, Ser Kevan, who stayed back at the Rock to coordinate the troops in his brother's absence, as were Sers Broom, Crakehall, Brax, and many others who were chief among the feudal warrior nobility of the Westerlands, and thus, Lord Tywin's command staff.

Also notably absent from this party was The Mountain of House Clegane – you see, Lord Tywin did not want to run the risk that the sight of Lady Vaenya might incite Ser Gregor to doing something incredibly stupid. Sometimes, Tywin found, the man could be as much a liability as a strategic asset: had the Mountain had his way with the Tyrell boy, Lord Mace would surely have raised a stink (perhaps in this case, Tywin did owe a begrudging thanks to the Iron Wench's timely intervention). In any case, The Mountain had already fallen to the Sky-People once before, and so if push did really come to shove, there really wasn't much he could do anyway. Better to rely on tactics, range, and coordination, than on the kind of up-close fighting Ser Gregor seemed to prefer.

Tywin and his entourage did not have long to wait. Sure enough, as his daughter had warned him in her latest raven, the arrival of the Sky-People was preceded by a great roar reverberating across the sky like a crack of thunder. And then it appeared: a great monstrous bird crafted out of metal and glass. The Old Lion had been warned about just what this creature was like, both from the reports from his spies in the capital, and from his daughter's own personal letters.

But none of these forewarnings could quite prepare him for the sight and sounds that greeted his eyes and ears, the shock of finally seeing this great flying beast for himself. For a moment, the stoic Old Lion was worried that his face would betray some sign of shock or awe, and it took a heroic effort to keep these emotions suppressed – something that Tywin was usually able to do with relative ease, but just not right now. Behind him, he could hear their horses whinnying and crying out, trying to get away from the great monster that descended from the skies. But the assembled men calmly stood their ground – partly out of discipline and training, and partly out of fear of the harsh punishments and public shaming they could potentially face for abandoning their liege lord.

The Falcon-ship continued to roar as it came to a rest on the ground, throwing up great gusts of wind and clouds of dust, extending from beneath it what appeared to be metal legs like those claws that one could find on an actual falcon. Almost immediately, the roaring ceased, and the dust began to settle. Once the clouds had dispersed, the hindquarters of this metallic beast of a ship began to open up, like the drawbridge of a castle. A large ramp of dull, grey steel lowered down, and six figures emerged from within. The Old Lion immediately recognized his son and daughter among them.

"Lord Father," spoke Ser Jaime, bowing his head respectfully before giving the Lannister Salute (which, for some inexplicable reason, drew looks of bewilderment from the foreigners).

The foremost of the foreigners, whom Lord Tywin presumed to be their leader, stepped forward, took a good look at the lines of Lannister troops standing at attention at the edge of the clearing. He frowned, and then turned to address the Old Lion himself. "I do believe we had agreed that neither of our parties would be bringing any soldiers or arms to this negotiation."

"'Tis only an honor guard," remarked Ser Addam, coldly, "a safety precaution, nothing more. The woods between here and the Rock are crawling with bandits."

The Sky-man, however, did not seem to buy into the knight's tale, and glared at him. Cersei quickly stepped in, diffusing the situation. "Lord Father," she began, kneeling and kissing her father's hand (such were the formal greeting traditions in the Westerlands), "please allow us to introduce to you to the… _famous_ Lord Frederick of House Kovacs; he is the leader of the Sky-People's enclave here in the Seven Kingdoms."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Lord Tywin Lannister," spoke the leader of the foreigners, as he stepped forward and extended a hand. Tywin did not take it, but instead took a moment to evaluate this individual. Lord Frederick was a tall and youthful chap – he could not have been more than his mid twenties. Clearly, then, he must have been from one of the Sky-People's noble families, given the resources at his command. Like the rest of his party, he wore strange clothing - a white shirt with a colorful cravate of some kind hanging from his neck and a simple black jacket on top of it - that Tywin reasoned was the foreigners' formal attire. He did not seem to exude much in the way of intelligence, though if anything, this meant that Tywin would have to keep an even closer eye on him: from experience, Tywin knew very well that those who lacked intelligence could prove to be just as dangerous, and far more unpredictable, than those who had it.

When no further response was forthcoming from Lord Tywin, Lord Kovacs decided to continue, attempting to be polite: "I've heard many great things about you… you and your noble family, yes, and I certainly look forward to our business partnership in the hopes that it will be a most profitable one for both of our parties. This is my co-director, Ser Daniel of House Zimmerman."

The second Sky-person, a man of about the same age as Lord Kovacs and similarly dressed, stepped forward and likewise introduced himself. "At your service. Uh… yes, pleasure to meet you too. And this is Lady Vaenya – she is a noble courtesan in the noble court of our liege lord, Lord Jonathan of House Teller."

The third person in their party was a tall and elegant woman, whom Lord Tywin knew right away must have been one and the same as this legendary "Iron Lady" he had heard much of. She spoke: "Greetings, Director T. Lannister Sr. My organic counterparts, Director Kovacs and Assistant Director Zimmerman, insist that I introduce myself under the formal appellation 'Lady Vaenya', as it sounds similar to naming conventions employed by the organic civilization referred to as 'Old Valyria'. As such, you may feel at leisure to refer to myself by this title."

"Ah. I see," replied the Lion, "Very well, Lady Vaenya. Your reputation precedes you."

"Quite literally, I am certain," she replied, "please relay my greetings and warmest regards to your subordinate, Mr. G. Clegane, and express my sincerest wishes for a most expedient recovery to what must have been to his primal organic mind a most traumatizing experience."

Tywin could not tell if the Iron Lady was being sincere or sarcastic, such was the tone of her voice – and this really disturbed him, as Tywin was a man who could usually tell much about the way people thought and acted from the tone of their voice (a necessity for a man with as many dealings as he).

The Lion then turned to face the fourth and final member of this group. She was shorter than Lady Vaenya, but still tall, with long, flowing red hair, beautiful green eyes, and dressed in a tidy but garishly colored pink dress. "Greetings, Mr. Lannister," spoke the woman in the most bizarre form of the Common Tongue Lord Tywin had ever heard (though he would later be told that this was the local accent of her native lands, that of the ancient and noble Kingdom of "The Deep South"). She continued: "Lady Sarah Jane Carson, at yer service; I'm with The Company's Office of Legal Counsel."

_Ah, so an advocate_, thought Tywin. Like most other human beings, he held a sharp personal distaste for advocates in general, but nonetheless found them useful for some purposes. From what he had heard, the Sky-People came from a society where advocates were more common than soldiers, and that disputes were settled between individuals (including – dare he think it? – _between the smallfolk and the nobility_) in the courtroom rather than through more traditional, more noble (and frankly, more _exciting_) means like trials-by-champion or trials-by-ordeal.

"By the way," continued Lady Sarah, "just to let y'all know, I'm takin' an audio recordin' o' all our proceedin's today, so that anythang we say today can be used as admissible evidence in any contractual disputes or further litigation that may or may not arise in future outta our business partnership… just a percaution, that's all. Speakin' o' which, just so y'all know, any disputes arisin' out of or in connection with today's dealin's will be referred to and resolved by arbitration though a The Company™-approved legal channel." Tywin, predictably, did not understand any of this, even if he was better-attuned than most other people as to the sometimes seemingly foreign language spoken by advocates.

"So, ladies and gentlemen," piped up Ser Daniel, "without further ado, shall we get down to business? Lord Tywin, would you and your attendants kindly step aboard the Falcon?"

"I beg your pardon?" blurted Tywin.

"We would like to give you an aerial tour of the lands we are interested in," continued Ser Daniel, "we felt it would help facilitate our negotiations to have a loose idea in mind of what we're seeking in this business deal."

Tywin stole a glance at his bannermen. Sers Raynald and Stafford were confused as well, while Ser Addam looked to Tywin, as if expecting orders to summon the rest of their guards. Tywin would very much liked to have done just that, to chase out these foreigners out of his lands for their impudence. But at the same time, he knew that that was just not a viable option. These foreigners practically held his son and daughter, the key to his legacy, in the palm of their hands. If things did turn violent today, there was a good chance that one or all of them may end up dead, and the thought of Casterly Rock falling to that spiteful little Imp was one the Old Lion dreaded to imagine.

Moreover, Tywin knew deep down that these foreigners had forced his hand. As much as it pained him to admit it, if half the tales he had heard coming from the North were true, it was clear that House Stark could very well overtake House Lannister in a few years thanks to all of those innumerable marvels and devices they had purchased from the Sky-People. That alone was a terrifying thought to the Old Lion, without this extra issue of the North's sudden drive for independence, their aggressive militarization, and the cowardly poisoning attempt they had made on his legacy. No, for better or for worse, the future of the Westerlands lay in the outcome of today's negotiation, and Lord Tywin decided that these foreigners would have to be shown that whatever those filthy, hairy, barbaric wolves of the North had to offer, the golden lions of the south could offer a dozen, nay, a _hundred_ times better.

"Very well, Ser Zimmerman," replied the Old Lion at last, "as you wish."


	56. Tywin 3

**Tywin (III)**

The inside of the Falcon-ship was, like the outside, bland and colorless, crafted out of cold black and white metal with more function than aesthetics in mind. Tywin found this oddly reassuring, as it shown that whatever else he thought of them, these foreigners were a people who valued efficiency and practicality over tedious flourishes and embellishments.

The chamber was fairly large – he was told that normally, it could seat up to thirty people. Today, however, there were only twelve chairs set up, and all arranged around a large metal table in the center. The chairs and the table were all bolted to the floor – however, as he took his seat, he noticed that the chairs could swivel about in a circle, or else move back and forth, along slots etched into the floor. Each chair also had a belt that he and his men were instructed to buckle up across their waist – these so-called "seatbelts", they were told, were there for the purpose of keeping them rooted to their seats and not thrown around during the Falcon-ship's flight.

"'Mornin', y'all," came a voice from nowhere that startled Tywin and his attendants. "Welcome aboard. I'll try to fly gentle today, as I heard it's some of y'all's first time flyin'. I still highly recommend y'all take yer air-sickness meds if y'all are sensitive to that sorta thang: my lil gal here can sure buck worse than a deranged bronco on the climb." Tywin immediately looked around, trying to identify the speaker.

"Oh, that's the voice of our pilot over the intercom, Ser Nolan McConaughey," muttered Ser Daniel, "he's seated in the front, in the _cockpit_." Tywin reasoned that it made sense for the handler of this great metallic beast to be seated in what passed for the creature's "head", as that was where the Targaryen riders of old would sit upon their dragons, at least according to the old stories he had been told as a young lion cub growing up in the court of his Lord Father Tytos.

When all had taken their seats and buckled themselves in, the chamber at once began to shudder and quake, as the ship roared once more and lifted off up into the air. It was like nothing Tywin had ever felt before, like a combination of trying to ride a panicked destrier while inside the hold of a ship tossed about in a squall like the worst that arose from the Sunset Sea to batter their western shores. But, as always, he did his best to contain whatever shock and dizziness and this so-called "air-sickness" he felt (though he had to wonder too if this was what it had felt like to the Targaryen Kings of Old to have ridden those great leathery-winged beasts of theirs).

Tywin turned to look out the glazed window to this left. Sure enough, the ground was rapidly retreating from out below them – the men still assembled in the clearing had shrunk down to look like ants, the rest of the landscape stretching out below them like a tapestry of woods and fields and the river slithering across like a great blue snake. Tywin rubbed his eyes, making sure he wasn't dreaming it: in the distance, he could make out the Rock itself, jutting out resplendent and defiant as always against the blue veil on the horizon that was the Sunset Sea. He could see the great sprawl of Lannisport, the wisps of smoke rising from the hearths of its couple hundred thousand inhabitants. And though they were ten miles away, he could swear he could make out the lines in the fields around the Rock that were the parade formations of his bannermen as they trained for battle.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" remarked Lady Sarah. Tywin turned away from the window to face the rest of the people seated at the table. Sers Addam and Raynald were loyally following their liege-lord's example to a tee and stifling any look of awe (or illness) they may have been feeling at that moment. But Ser Stafford was a different story, as he was starting to look green. Fortunately, the chamber had stopped shaking so violently, and as the great falcon-ship leveled off, the ride actually proved to be quite smooth and tranquil.

"Ladies n' gents," came the voice of Ser Nolan, "we've leveled out at 3,000m. We'll be hoverin' over the target area momentarily. Seatbelt-signs are now turned off, so feel free to roam about the cabin if it please y'all."

"Perfect," said Frederick, "roger that."

"So, before we begin, would you gentlemen all like something to drink?" asked Ser Daniel, politely. "Coffee? Tea? We have an espresso machine installed aboard too."

"How about a cigar?" chimed in Lord Frederick. He withdrew from the pockets of his coat a finely engraved wooden box and opened it. Inside were several rolls of what appeared to be a brown, dried-up leaf of some kind. The aroma emanating from them was quite strong – Tywin reasoned that this must have been some kind of foreign spice that, when lit up and inhaled in such a manner as an Essosi waterpipe, would leave a lasting taste upon the tongue that some could find quite alluring.

"Cohiba, straight from Cuba, Earth," continued Lord Kovacs, boastfully, "I figured a man of your refined tastes and status might be interested."

"That is not advisable, Director Kovacs," interjected Lady Vaenya, "UNASEC regulations expressly forbid any form of smoking on flights."

"Alright, relax, I was just trying to be polite to our honored guest," protested Lord Kovacs. He turned back to face Tywin, "fine, maybe we'll all have a nice smoke after the deal's done and we're back down on the ground. So, right, to business then."

As Lord Frederick spoke, Lady Vaenya had gotten up and laid out several porcelain cups and plates on the table with a speed and elegance to her movements that was almost unsettling. She then went around the table a second time, carrying a metal kettle of some kind, filling each cup with a steaming and strongly smelling brown beverage. Lord Tywin looked at his cup, not sure what to make of it. But when he noticed that the Sky-People and his son and daughter were drinking it without second doubt, he reasoned that it could not possibly be poisoned. He took a sip. This drink of the Sky-People, this so-called "coffee", was steaming hot, but otherwise bitter as all Seven Hells and then some – just the way Tywin usually liked his afternoon tea, oddly enough. He respectfully turned down any of the cream or sweeteners that were offered to him by his host.

"So… Lord Father!" spoke up Cersei, trying to break the ice that existed between the gathered parties. "The Most Noble and Esteemed Company is interested in devising a 'comprehensive developmental and modernization plan' for the Westerlands… in sharing some of their, uh, _interesting_ devices and ideas with us."

"So I've gathered," chided Tywin, and looked to his other child at the table. Ser Jaime did not seem to quite share his sister's "enthusiasm" about the foreigners (if one could call it that), but nonetheless grunted in agreement. It was clear that he had only been brought onboard with this summit at the last minute, and perhaps only at the behest of his sister. All the same, Tywin felt he really had no choice but to hear out these foreigners on what they had to say.

"If you would kindly," began Ser Daniel, "take a good look, Lord Tywin. The area we are now flying over is of interest to us. We're now looking to lease this area and develop it, and, should you accept, you would be the proud recipient of some of the incentives we have to offer." The Lion peered out of the window, at the landscape below – a dynamic mix of open fields and meadows, forests, rocky hills and stretches of coastline, all no more than a few miles north of the Rock.

As if to reinforce the point, Daniel conjured up with a wave of his hands a glowing blue map of the area appeared and hovered in the air above the table. Tywin's lieutenants were impressed and amazed at this display of sorcery that Tywin would later learn was called a "hologram", but he himself remained expressionless. At once, red lines began snaking their way across the map, demarcating the areas in question. Meanwhile, several red dots appeared on the map, showing the locations of the Rock, of Lannisport, as well as of several other villages, hamlets, and strongholds to be found in the area.

"We've identified three primary areas we would like to lease from you," continued Lord Frederick, "for an initial period of ten-years, though with the obvious option open of extending the lease period, and of expanding the area in question – contingent, of course, on your preference, though I am certain you will find this initial deal a most propitious and beneficial one for all of us. We're looking to begin the lease period in about five to six months from now. That said, there are two or three villages already located within these lands that will have to be relocated, but we're willing to compensate the villagers and help them resettle – perhaps even offer them some modern amenities."

Tywin took a moment to digest these details, looking first at the map drawn before him, and then out of the window at the land itself, down below. Then he spoke: "most of this land you speak of falls under House Lannister of Casterly Rock, yes… but some of it cuts close to the lands of the Sarsfields and the Greenfields."

"We were hoping that you would be willing to help us out on that front," said Daniel.

"Seeing as you are the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands," added Frederick, "and therefore their liege lord. An… _official charter from Casterly Rock_ would simplify most of our dealings with the locals in this area – both peasantry and nobility alike. It's not like it's entirely one-sided either, if that's what you're worried about – we are willing to compensate everyone for their troubles."

"I see," replied Lord Tywin, suspiciously, "if that be the case, Lord Kovacs – if it is indeed your personal wish to carve a fiefdom of your own out of _my land_ – and if you would like my active assistance in doing so, then I would very much appreciate knowing what exactly it is you intend to do with it. Is it gold that you seek, Lord Kovacs? Perhaps it would be good for you to know that the last gold mines in this area ceased operation years ago, back when my late Lord Father Tytos still held the lordship of Casterly Rock."

"Not all that glitters is gold, Mr. Lannister," replied Ser Daniel, "though if you must know, we're thinking of a… uh… a _primarily residential development_, along with attendant services and industries. Nothing much."

"Allow me to elaborate," began Frederick, "picture if you will, Mr. Lannister…" At the push of a button, the "hologram" dissipated, and instead a panel in the center of the table opened up, revealing a glowing map of a small part of the area in question. At several points, the map was adorned with what appeared to be little toy models of various strange buildings of the Sky-People – square in shape, and seemingly constructed out of metal and glass, much like the falcon-ship within which they now rode.

Lord Frederick continued, and as he spoke some of the small model buildings on the map began to light up and glow one-by-one. "Beachfront condos… water-parks… casinos… night clubs… five-star hotels like the Marriott and Hilton and whatnot, all complete with golf courses and tennis courts… shopping malls and all the typical chains – Gap, Armani, Macy's, Abercrombie &amp; Fitch, Banana Republic, you know, all the usual product placement brands. An IKEA and a Walmart too for all the basic living essentials. We'll also probably have all the hip places to eat as well… we'll start off with the absolute essentials like Starbucks and Chipotle – yes, Chipotle, the only place where thousand-calorie burritos are actually good for you! Maybe we'll later expand the varieties to include In-N-Out Burger, B.J.'s Brewery, P.F. Chang's… maybe even Benihana. Ever tried _hibachi_, Mr. Lannister? Oh, and don't forget all the local industries and services that will be needed to support these amenities – cooks, drycleaners, barkeepers, exotic dancers… as well as light industries, household goods, cosmetics, construction, electricity generation, breweries, Coca-Cola bottling plants, etc."

"That's all very well, Lords Kovacs and Zimmerman," shot Lord Tywin, "but perhaps you would do well to remind me again as to why exactly would I want an enclave of you Sky-People and your 'Chipotle' and your 'hibachi' so near to Casterly Rock?"

"For the primary reason that the immediate benefits to the economy and socio-political structure of the Westerlands will be substantial," explained Lady Vaenya, "in addition to the revenue and customs directly raised both by tourism and trade between our proposed enclave and the Lannisport Greater Metropolitan Area, there will be considerable ancillary benefits in the form of the access you will enjoy to some of our utilities and infrastructure, as well as the dissemination of modern ideas and concepts such as the rule of law, and the scientific method."

"I see," chided the Lion, "so you intend to pay for my land with… clean water and your foreign ideas?"

"As I have iterated, Director Lannister, these are only _ancillary_ benefits (and in any case, they are of far higher value to the advancement and well-being of your civilization than that which you seem to attach to them, judging by my analysis of the attitudes you are expressing)," replied the Iron Lady, impassively. "The primary benefits will take the form of a physical remuneration of assets directly into the coffers of your administration, either in denominations of currency, or in tradable goods of equivalent value."

"Gold and silver I have a-plenty," replied Tywin, "I am far more interested to hear of these tradable goods you wish to barter." Lords Frederick and Daniel and Lady Sarah seemed to smile at each other. This was clearly the part of the negotiations they had been looking forward to the most.

"It's pertinent that you ask," spoke Ser Daniel, "we've got a little catalogue here you might want to review. Here's the printed version, since I know you guys don't have the holonet." He handed over to him a book of some kind.

Tywin and his lieutenants gathered round to inspect its contents. It was a strange book like nothing he had ever seen – with shiny glossy pages covered in bright, colorful pictures, all of them lifelike paintings rendered in the finest detail. There were all manner of pictures: some displayed simple objects and devices of their lonesome, while other depicted entire Sky-People acting and interacting with said objects. Next to every picture was a title of some kind that gave the name of the object, a brief written description, and three numbers colored in red, blue, and green inks.

Ser Daniel continued: "You'll notice that every item has three numbers next to it. The first number, the blue one, is the product serial number – that helps us keep tabs on everything, you know, accounting purposes. The second number, the red one, is the amount we have in stock currently, though bear in mind that we can always make more of each. The third number in green is the _price tag_ per each individual unit. We've adjusted the prices for Westerosi Gold Dragons, but, as stated, we're more interested in accepting remuneration in the form of parcels of land."

"As you can see," he continued, "the first couple of sections are mainly agrarian items – improved ploughs, seed-drills, and other agricultural equipment. We can also supply various chemical products by the drum – fertilizers, herbicides, pesticides – that will boost your agricultural output in various ways. Oh yes, that thing you see there is called a _tractor_ – just one of these babies can haul as much as a hundred horses. And unlike horses, they don't get sick or tired, they don't get old and die, and they certainly don't kick back when they don't want to work. If you don't believe me, we can fly one out here for a demonstration. The best part is that each tractor includes with it a comprehensive package: three-year warranty, as well as a complimentary two-month training program for the operator, and a complimentary annual checkup and inspection by a Company-certified engineer – all of this once our colony is operational, of course."

"We can also supply new crops as well as genetically modified high-yielding varieties of your existing crops," added in Frederick, "all of which will serve to boost the productivity of your agriculture. Some of the new crops will definitely help both restore soil nitrogen, as well as enrich variety and nutrition of the Westerland diet. Crops like peanuts and what not - provided none of you are allergic." Frederick paused to stifle a laugh. Tywin could not imagine for the life of him what exactly he found so funny about the words "peanuts" or "allergic", but decided it was probably not worth wasting any further time pondering about.

"The next chapter is mainly domestic household products," continued Frederick, "cooking utensils, cutlery, dishware, all made from our special ceramics and stainless steel that only we can produce. And the next chapter is mainly on woman's beauty products and cosmetics and what not. I'm sure that your daughter, Her Grace the Queen, can attest to some of these products we can offer. You should try some of our special synthetic fabrics – lighter and more comfortable than any Essosi silk, yet more durable, more easily washable, oh, and _cheaper_ too!"

"Improved crop-yields are all well with me," chided the Lion, "but are you perhaps insinuating that you wish to otherwise repay Casterly Rock in… shiny trinkets and baubles?"

"Well, don't worry, we're getting to the _good stuff_," replied Frederick.

"Yes," added Daniel, "the next chapter is mainly on infrastructure improvements – roads, water supplies, waste disposal, sewage treatment, even electricity. We plan to build these for our colony, of course, but if you so choose to purchase some of these improvements for yourself, our engineers can extend some of these facilities down to Casterly Rock and beyond. Imagine: the waterfront of Lannisport all lit up nicely at night. Did we mention that The Company has been the seventeen-time winner of the UN Award for Environmental Innovation and Energy Efficiency?"

Improved crop and improved roads and perhaps some of these "flameless lanterns" as well? Tywin was an experienced civic administrator, and so he could see how each of these devices would definitely improve the areas around the Rock. But he still wanted something more. Lady Sarah seemed to read the expression on his face flawlessly, and spoke: "don't worry, Mr. Lannister, I daresay that this final chapter is what might just whet yer interest the most." Sure enough, the final chapter contained exactly what Tywin presumed were the products he really wanted to see.

"We can supply guns, ammunition, armor, uniforms, equipment, ration packs, tents, medicines, camping stoves, searchlights, radios… we can equip an entire army within a couple months," said Frederick, snidely. He smiled before continuing. "In fact, I daresay we already _have_."

The Lion knew very well what exactly Lord Frederick was referring to, but he decided that he needed to know more about the capabilities of this new army of Lord Stark's before deciding if the Westerlands should follow suit.

"I'll start with some of the basics before we get into the flashier stuff," said Ser Daniel, reading the anticipation on Tywin's face. "For starters: canning." At his command, a hologram of one such "can" materialized in the center of the table – it was a round cylinder of metal, nothing special. Daniel continued: "Yes, Mr. Lannister, _canning_: it's pretty simple, but effective. These little metal containers are airtight and designed to keep any food packed in them nice and fresh so they won't spoil for months or even years. A few hundred thousand of these will improve your army's logistics and supply situation immeasurably."

_Food that would not spoil for months?_ Tywin, an experienced general, could see just how this would ease the army's logistics… especially if they were in for a long, protracted campaign against the North…

"Antiseptics are another major innovation that you may wish to consider incorporating into your inventory," added in Lady Vaenya. The "hologram" changed to depict several bottles full of what Tywin supposed were these "antiseptics". The Iron Lady continued: "I presume that your armies, similar to those of comparable organic civilizations during the period commonly referred to as Earth's Medieval Ages, suffer from high rates of attrition due to disease while on campaign. The widespread deployment of iodine-based disinfectants, both for the purification of drinking water, and the treatment of organic injuries acquired on the battlefield, would prove a major boost to your military's ability to operate in the field and project coercive power on a larger scale."

"But I can tell from the look on y'all's faces what y'all're really rarin' fer," chided in Lady Sarah. She conjured up the 'hologram' of a long, thin device – a metal tube with a spear-point attached to one end and a wooden stock at the other, not unlike that of a crossbow. "This, fine gents, is the Martini-Henry Lever Action Rifle – these ones are chambered for 7.62mm rounds. She's got an effective range of 'bout a half-mile with our newer rounds; she can penetrate just 'bout any armor y'all currently have in yer armories. An experienced and well-trained rifleman can prob'ly put in 'bout 12 shots per minute, which I daresay is far better than any of yer crossbowmen. This, good sirs, is the famous 'fire-arm' I'm sure y'all been hearing so much 'bout."

"But wait, there's more!" added Frederick, "the Martini is not the heaviest thing we have in our arsenal." At his command, the image of this so-called 'Martini-Henry' was replaced by that a large, wheeled device, with a man standing next to it for scale. "This is the M1857 Napoleon 12-pound howitzer – just the thing you want in your nation's armory! It's light enough to be moved relatively easily around the battlefield by horse, heavy enough to destroy fortifications from a mile away, and it's versatile enough to handle either solid shot, shell, canister, you name it! I can tell you: it may not look very large compared to your catapults and trebuchets, but this baby is far more powerful, longer-ranged, and will rip any castle a new one! That theme-song of yours, _The Rains Of Castamere_? Well, if you had some of these babies back then, your national anthem would still be about rain, except that said 'rain' would consist of fire and shrapnel raining down on your enemies! In fact, where we come from, we too have a traditional song about artillery 'rain' coming down on a sunny day; it was written by _House_ Creedance Clearwater Revival, and it was about a legendary war our empire fought centuries ago in a mystical kingdom called 'Vietnam'."

When Frederick had finished with his speech, Tywin took a moment to ponder over some of these details, to consider, for example, what a barrage of these 'bullets' that could penetrate any armor from a half-mile away would mean to the future of Westerosi warfare. "So tell me Lord Kovacs," he said at last, "how many of these 'Martinis' and 'Napoleons' did you supply to the Starks?"

"_A lot_," replied Frederick, nonchalantly, "apologies, but maintaining client confidentiality is generally considered a desirable practice in the business world… though, if perhaps you were genuinely interested in making some purchases for your own forces, well, we could offer some frame-of-reference."

"And what does your new _liege lord_ Robb Stark have to say of any of this?" inquired Ser Addam, snidely.

Frederick, Daniel, and Sarah looked at each other confused. Lady Vaenya remained impassive and emotionless. Daniel was the first to speak up: "allow me to clarify, Mr. Marbrand: the Starks are in no way, shape, or form our 'liege lords' as you seem to believe. Our relationship with them is purely one of business transactions, tit for tat, nothing more. We're all still citizens of the great and mighty empire of the United States of America, if you need to know."

"See, it's nothing personal," shrugged Frederick, "it's just good business, that's all."

"Mr. Lannister, politically, The Company's official position is one o' the utmost neutrality," added Sarah. "The Iron Throne is o' lil concern t'us; we're just content to have our little piece o' land to develop free from interference, that's all."

"Neutrality?" said Tywin, "a pity... for were it ever to be found that, say, the Starks were traitorous to the Crown… and all their lands and titles forfeit as a result… the North would certainly then be in need of a new warden, a new Lord Paramount."

Frederick and Daniel and Lady Sarah looked at each other, clearly considering this offer. At last, Lord Frederick spoke: "perhaps, Mr. Lannister, perhaps." He paused before continuing. "But, if it is agreeable to you, we would like to see how this initial partnership of ours pays off before we invest in any further, uh, bold initiatives. You know, just to make sure we're betting on the right horse, so to speak."

"Very well," replied the Warden Of The West, "if that be the case, Lord Kovacs, then I trust that you and your compatriots will find that to have placed your trust and investment with the Lannisters of Casterly Rock is _always_ a winning proposition."

"I'm certain that we shall see about that soon enough," remarked Frederick.


	57. Robb 3

**Robb (III)**

The cracking of a thousand rifles being discharged all at once rang through the air, the smell of ashes and brimstone palpable. Adding to this great sensory cacophony, one could hear the dull **_POM POM POM_** of the artillery company nearby, discharging their practice rounds. The good news was that at last it seemed that the horses were starting to get used to it all… at least they didn't panic as much anymore. And Lord-_General_ Robb Stark was certain that this would give the North's small and wanting cavalry division a fighting chance against the larger mounted arms of the South, who were not as accustomed to the noise, to the smoke, the smell, and the brilliant muzzle flashes.

"REGIMENT WILL FIX BAYONETS!" boomed the voice of _Lieutenant-Colonel_ Hallis Mollen. A line of signal flagbearers and bugle-blowers relayed the order down the line. Getting all thousand men to move and coordinate as one was a nightmare even with the advantage of the Sky-People's technology and knowledge, and so the entire regiment had been subdivided, first into companies, then platoons, then finally into squads of roughly ten or so men each, commanded by a corporal.

Each squad was then made to drill together, to cook and eat together at mealtimes, to share a tent, and when battle finally came, to fight as one. This model of building camaraderie, morale, and unit cohesion was a facet Robb had adopted from that ancient empire known as the Roman Republic, who seemed to have been to the Sky-People what Old Valyria was to the Realm, and who had been a major source of inspiration to the man who Robb in-turn now looked up to.

When the first order was given by Commander Hallis, the regiment as one reached down for their belts. When the second order was given, the men promptly withdrew their bayonets from their belts and fixed them to the ends of their rifles – the clanging of a thousand steel blades being slotted into place was almost as audible as the actual discharge. Meanwhile, at Robb's orders, the cannon crews ceased firing and the heavy guns fell silent.

"ADVANCE!" cried Colonel Hallis.

"**_AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRR!_**" came the collective roar of a thousand Men Of The North in response. The line began to move forward – a little disorganized in places, but otherwise solid and cohesive. The Young Wolf was pleased to see that if nothing else, at least the individual squads and platoons seemed to move as one.

A hundred yards away was the object of today's practice: a line of several hundred wooden boards set up to serve little other purpose to be mercilessly shot at with rifles and stabbed and skewered at close range by dozens of bayonets. Some of the men had even gotten it into their heads during off-time to have a joke and paint and dress-up a couple of these boards to look like Lannister bannermen. It usually fell to the sergeants and platoon commanders to enforce discipline among the men, but no one seemed to take any issue with this minor breach of protocol – it might help motivate the men and instill some hatred for the lions into their spines, and so Robb was willing to let it slide.

At this moment, Lord-General Robb Stark and his gathered officers, lieutenants, and standard-bearers, all decked out in full battle attire, stood together and watched the mock battle unfold below them from atop a grassy knoll. Capes, banners, and flags alike fluttered in the breeze. Also notably present were Maesters Luwin, and Donner, Volstagg, and Fandrall, three of the new arrivals from Oldtown, as well as Colonel Hallis' cousin Daryl, taking a break from his mayoral duties. Such a spectacle had also drawn a large and curious crowd of spectators from Winter Town, although these civilians were kept well at bay by Robb's camp picket guards, both in the interests of safety and secrecy.

It was then that Robb noticed the crowd parting ways to make way for a newcomer: it was one of the "Wild Cats", those horseless carriages of the Sky-People. Robb had received a call over the "radio" that morning that this visit was happening today, and so he had earlier instructed the picket guard to let them in when they arrived. The Wild Cat screeched to a halt a couple dozen yards away, and three familiar passengers disembarked.

"Greetings, Lord Kovacs, Lady Vaenya, and Ser Zimmerman," greeted Robb, politely, stepping forward to extend his hand to his guests. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Likewise, Lord Stark," spoke Frederick as he approached, "I'm afraid we have some bad news to report. As you know, the laws of our homeland preclude us from _directly_ intervening in the affairs of the Seven Kingdoms. But there is nothing that stops me from giving you our _indirect_ assistance. We have three very important pieces of information that require your urgent attention."

_No news is good news_, thought Robb, and he sighed. But still, if something is afoot, it is better to know about it. "Speak away," said Robb, "knowing is always half the battle."

"The first major news we have to report is that Lord Tywin Lannister has begun marshalling an army at Casterly Rock."

_Why was he not surprised?_ "How large?" asked Robb.

"It's difficult to get an accurate estimate," said Daniel, "our satellite has counted roughly 12,000 so far, but more are streaming in by the day. As I'm sure you're well aware, the Westerlands are the second most populous region of Westeros after the Reach, with a total population we estimate to be about 6 to 7 million. Assuming their mobilization rates are similar to the North's, that could give them anywhere between 40,000 and 80,000 men on the field."

"Lord Tywin can't mean to possibly attack the North, can he?" inquired Lord Rickard Karstark, visibly shaken by this announcement. "He'd have to cross the Neck. And before that, the Riverlands. Ol' Hoster Tully would never allow the Lannisters to march an army through his lands!"

"And since when has Lord Tywin Lannister allowed Ol' Hoster's personal sentiments to get in his way?" interjected the Leech Lord himself, Roose Bolton of the Dreadfort. "The Lannisters will start a war with House Tully if they must – they've been eyeing some of those fertile lands around the Red Fork for years now. And… should it happen that His Grace has you branded a traitor, my liege… then I'm afraid that Ol' Hoster will have no choice but to join the lions' crusade – unlike the North or the Vale, the Riverlands can not enforce their neutrality with an easily defensible position."

"Well, THAT puts US in a right FIX then, doesn't IT?" Bellowed the Greatjon of House Umber in his coarse, thick accent.

Robb, however, remained calm and collected, thinking all of this over. He began: "well, perhaps it's a stroke of fortune that we decided to train an army of 20,000, when just 300 could hold the Neck against a million. If and when the Lannisters attack, we'll have no choice but to take the fight to them – possibly even fight them on their own home soil. I will not sit idly by while my mother's homelands – and our closest ally – is torn apart and feasted upon by the lions."

"An intervention in the Riverlands?" inquired Lord Rickard.

"Yes," replied the Young Wolf, matter-of-factly. "The bond between us and our River-Brethren is a strong one – bound together by marriage and by the sacrifices we made together on the banks of the Trident all those years ago. We cannot risk the loss of such a vital ally – especially if losing my Lord Grandfather and Uncle will open up the Riverlords to defection to Lord Tywin's side. But you are correct, Lord Bolton, in that the Riverlands cannot be easily defended. No, if it comes down to it, we must be prepared to go on the offensive – we may even have to invade the Westerlands itself."

"A most risky proposition," commented Lord Roose.

"Perhaps, but a necessary one," said Robb starkly. "Even if we are unable to take the Rock itself, our goal should be to inflict as much damage as possible, lay waste to their lands, force their bannermen to abandon the war effort, and eventually force the lions themselves to sue for peace."

"Ruthless but efficient," muttered Roose, "I like it."

The other Northern Lords seemed to have some misgivings over this strategy, but said nothing. Robb decided that he should address some of the concerns they must have been harboring, and so he continued: "Aye, 'tis true that we could very well hold the Neck against a million men… but what good will that do for us in the long run? The lions will simply blockade our ports, close off all trade routes, and then content themselves to sit idly by whilst we starve ourselves into submission… or worse, turn on each other." Robb did not want to make it look like he doubted the loyalties of any of his bannermen, but at the same time, this was a matter that should be addressed – desperation breeds enmity, and should it ever happen that the North find itself cut off from the rest of the world, he was certain that at least some of the men standing on this very field would find themselves tempted by Tywin's coin.

"Are the LIONS really capable of CLOSIN' us off from the REST o' the WORLD?" boomed the Greatjon, "if THAT be the case, we'll just GRIN n' BEAR IT! We're MEN O' THE NORTH, not some WEAKLY, effeminate SOUTHRONS!"

"Whether they can, and whether we can, is something I would rather not have to learn the hard way," replied Robb. "At this point, we must assume that anything is possible – especially if they are to have the weight of the Iron Throne and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms behind them."

"Well, you needn't have anything to fear from the Ironborn!" mused Theon Greyjoy, confidently. "My lord father bears no special love for the lions!"

"Nor for wolves either," chided Lord Roose.

Theon, taken aback by this implied accusation levied against his family, said nothing and glared at the Leech-Lord. Robb decided to pursue this tangent no further. Theon was a friend and a brother to him, and should war come, the Krakens commanded the largest fleet in the Realm, even larger than the Reach (though most of the Ironborn ships were longships – smaller and less durable than the dromonds and war galleys of the other Kingdoms). But the Young Wolf also knew that he best watch his back too – Balon was no fool, and should it come to it that the weight of all of the other Kingdoms would come to bear upon the North, the Greyjoys might simply choose to cast their lot with the winning side. For all Robb knew, the Lions might even extend to Lord Balon a reward of considerable enough worth to make him reconsider the value he placed on the life of his last surviving son – there were other heirs to the Salt Throne, after all.

"What about White Harbor?" asked Lord Rickard, "with House Manderly's new fleet, the North is now the preeminent naval power in the world! Surely we can rely on Lord Wyman to keep the seaways to Essos open?"

"Correction, Lord Rickard: the North _will be_ the preeminent naval power – will be, but _not yet_," replied Robb. "Even with these 'swivel guns' and 'steamships' and 'clippers' of the Sky-People, it will be as yet a couple years before we can build up the numbers or the crew experience needed to challenge the combined naval might of the other Seven Kingdoms."

"Acting Director Stark Jr. raises a valid point," commented Lady Vaenya, "based on our satellite data, we have concluded that the number of military nautical vessels of the Seven Kingdoms are as follows: the polity designed 'Iron Islands' fields approximately 500 warships, although the vast majority of these ships are smaller raiding vessels not too dissimilar to those built by the Earth-based organic civilization known as 'The Vikings'. The core of this navy consists of 100 larger vessels…"

"The Iron Fleet," beamed Theon with pride, "the greatest and mightiest massing of naval power in all the Seven Kingdoms!"

"Aye, at least until Lord Stannis Baratheon lured your uncles' fleet to their demise off the Fair Isle," remarked Lord Bolton. As before, Theon said nothing but glared.

Lady Vaenya continued, blissfully and willfully ignoring this interruption: "…the 'Crownlands' are known to house 50 warships in the port of King's Landing and another 160 on Dragonstone Island. The 'Reach' possesses 200 warships in total. The 'Westerlands' Sector possesses 80 vessels. The 'Kingdom of Dorne' possesses 30 vessels. Both the Kingdoms of the 'Vale' and 'Stormlands' possess a fleet of 40 vessels each. The 'Riverlands' Sector possesses a fleet of 50 vessels, but primarily smaller galleys capable of navigating rivers. Therefore, I must conclude that in the highly improbable yet nonetheless possible scenario that Director T. Lannister Sr. gain the requisite authority from the Monarch to marshal all naval forces into a single armada, the combined fleet would number no less than 1,150 – far more if civilian vessels were also to be pressed into military service."

"Exactly," agreed Robb, "time is working against us. My lord father was brutally attacked and nearly killed in the streets of the capital by that duplicitous Kingslayer of the Lannisters naught but two weeks ago. It is only thanks to Lord Kovacs and Lady Vaenya that he still draws breath amongst the living. But the facts are clear: we may be at war with the Lannisters before the end of this calendar year."

"Will His Grace do naught to stop this war?" inquired Lord Galbart Glover, slightly alarmed, "surely with your lord father down in the capital... and your sister betrothed to the Crown Prince… surely there is still hope for peace?"

"I can not know for sure," replied the Young Wolf. "Yes, 'tis true that my father and His Grace were like brothers once, and fought side-by-side on the banks of the Trident to free us from the reign of the Mad King. But 'tis also true that this was all 15 years ago, and the world has since changed greatly. His Grace now presides over a court filled with the liars and agents of Casterly Rock. Two vile and treacherous attempts, on the lives of my lord father and my brother Brandon, have gone unpunished. One of these was in response to an alleged 'poisoning attempt' on the Queen and that fiendish Kingslayer brother of hers – an attempt later shown to have been the work of none other than one of the lions' own wretched dogs gone mad, the vile Littlefinger! And yet, the Lions have allowed this traitor to walk free while my own lord father pays in his blood, and that of Jory Cassel and five other good men! This is not the King's Justice that father raised my brothers and sisters and I to honor and uphold."

Some of the men still looked uncomfortable with this line of thinking, and understandably so, as some of these words possibly bordered on treason. So Robb continued: "I believe in the King's Peace. I believe in the King's Justice. I believe in the King's Divine Right and the Power in King's Blood. But the Lannisters do not. As we speak, they are trying to usurp the Crown and turn the man who was once a true brother to my lord father against us all!

"All that we Northmen desire is to enjoy our rights under the King's Justice – our rights to live our lives in peace, free from the interference of the Lions, free from the fear of tyranny and death, and to enjoy these many great gifts that the Sky-People have graciously bequeathed unto us. And this army will be the key to securing those rights, and to building a future for ourselves free from Southron aggression – a future where your children will live in a better, a stronger, a more prosperous world.

"Aye, but if that is the peace and freedom we strive for, then we must fight to earn it! And that means that when the time comes, we must be ready to march… not only to march to Riverrun's aid, but to straight march into the Lions' den, if it must come to that. We must be prepared to go on the offensive, for no war has ever been won by a static army built on complacency!" Robb took a minute to catch his breath and then turned to face his guests: "your Napoleon and your Wellington taught me that much."

"Hell yeah!" remarked Lord Frederick, punching the air.

"I must complement you, Director Stark Jr., on your eloquence and delivery, which is well above average for an organic," added Lady Vaenya.

"Right on!" said Ser Daniel. "Now, building on your point, the second major piece of news we wanted to share with you is that, in light of recent events and tensions brewing in the capital, your father has commissioned a new army."

"Oh?" said Robb.

"Yes. Well, technically, it's not a 'new army', but rather, he felt that with the situation in the capital being what it is, he wanted to make sure that the Hand has a steadfast and immediate force multiplier that he could reliably fall back on. So he's expanding the King's Landing City Watch and he's enlisted our services in, uh, _upgrading_ some of their equipment and training."

"That is excellent news. Thank you," replied the Young Wolf. Together with the trained riflemen he had recently sent down to the capital to replace Jory and the others, this would leave his father and his sisters in a far more secure position. Perhaps a travesty like that which had befallen his father during the attempt to bring that traitorous Master Of Coin into custody would be avoided in future. "Now, that said, I believe you mentioned over the radio that you had wanted to show us something you said that we might be interested in…"

"Oh, absolutely!" smiled Lord Frederick, ever the honest businessman. "Here, I'll show you. VENI, do the thing!"


	58. Timeline 4

**TIMELINE 4: Intrigue And Infrastructure**

**Day 85: Jul14, 298 A.C. (Dec25, 2154 C.E. in Earth Standard Calendar)**  
**The North:  
**+Tyrion Lannister is picked up by Daniel and VENI, and taken to Autumn's Frontier – ostensibly, as an invitation to attend a Christmas party. Unbeknownst to all parties involved, a diplomatic incident between Tyrion and Lady Catelyn Stark was narrowly avoided.  
+Robb Stark is furious when he learns that his mother had acted behind his back and ordered Ser Rodrik Cassel to arrest Tyrion Lannister while he was on the road. He reprimands Catelyn Stark for this action, but decides that they should never speak of it again to anyone.  
+A Christmas party is held at the colony of Autumn's Frontier. Fred declares a half-day of work the next day (afternoon only) in order to encourage people to get wasted.

**Day 86: Jul15  
Autumn's Frontier:  
**+Tyrion is given a tour of the compound. He is immensely impressed by all the progress The Company™ has made since the last time he visited the colony during King Robert's visit to Winterfell.  
+Fred, Daniel, and VENI convene and decide that the evidence overwhelmingly suggests that Tyrion Lannister was _not_ involved in the assassination attempt on Brandon Stark. This shifts the suspicion almost entirely onto Jaime and/or Cersei's shoulders. Fred and Daniel do not yet know why the Lannisters would have tried so hard to kill Brandon, but conclude that whatever the reason, once they can prove it, it will give them a potent bargaining chip for any further trade negotiations with the Lannisters.

**Day 87: Jul16  
Winter Town, The North:**  
+The idea of "mass media" is introduced to the North when Winter Town begins a regular daily news service in the form of Bryan The Carver, a town crier whose job is, in theory, to present "Ye Faire and Balancede Newse". Lord Robb (and various small business establishments in Winter Town) recognize the immense propaganda and "advertising" value of this foreign idea called "the news media" and take note.

**Day 88: Jul17**  
+Fred, Daniel, VENI, and Tyrion depart for the South aboard Falcon03, piloted by Lt. Nolan McConaughey.  
**Dragonstone, Crownlands:**  
+While en route to King's Landing, Fred, Daniel, VENI and Tyrion pay a visit to Dragonstone, former bastion of House Targaryen, and current seat of King Robert's younger brother Lord Stannis Baratheon. While touring the premises, they acquire several crates loaded with an assortment of obsidian tools, jewelry, as well as chunks of uncut obsidian as well. During the visit, they are also introduced to two more individuals: Lady Melisandre, a Red Priestess from Essos, and Ser Davos Seaworth, a knight and former smuggler. Ser Davos later joins the travelers' group, ostensibly as part of a diplomatic mission (but primarily under Stannis' instruction to gather intelligence on the Sky-People).  
**King's Landing, Crownlands:**  
+Falcon03 arrives carrying Fred, Daniel, VENI, Tyrion, and Ser Davos. After a welcome feast, Daniel and Ser Davos return north aboard the Falcon.

**Day 89: Jul18  
White Harbor, The North:**  
+Engineers Adams, Donnelly, and Wong travel to White Harbor as personal guests of Lord Wyman Manderly to assist in the final stages of construction of his steamship project affectionately named _The Little Merman_.

**Day 90: Jul19  
King's Landing:**  
+First Day of the Hand-And-Merchant-Prince's Tourney; during the course of the day's events, Ser Hugh Of The Vale is killed after being impaled in the neck by Ser Gregor Clegane.  
**Near Winter Town:**  
+The North's first coalmine is opened for business as a hundred miners open up a coal seam with a mix of hard manual labor and generous help from Company™-manufactured mining explosives.

**Day 91: Jul20 (Dec31, 2154 C.E. in Earth Standard Calendar)**  
**Berlin, Germany, Earth:**  
+Dir. Domenech E. Belleville, Executive Director of The Company™'s Space Branch (and Teller's boss), makes a special guest appearance on _Fuchs Nachrichten Holonetzwerk_ (FNHN)'s New Year's Eve Special, hosted by Schaefer Schmidt and Gretchen Von Limburg.  
**King's Landing:**  
+Second Day of the Tourney: on this day is held the second round of jousts, including the final, which pits Ser Loras Tyrell of the Reach against Ser Gregor Clegane of the Westerlands. During the joust, Ser Gregor loses control of his temper and attempts to kill Ser Loras; the latter is saved in the nick of time thanks to the timely intervention of VENI, who proceeds to disable and incapacitate the offending knight.  
+Ser Loras Tyrell concedes his first place prize to VENI (or, as she is known among the Westerosi, "Lady Vaenya, the Iron Lady of The Company") out of gratitude for her having saved his life.

**Day 92: Jul21  
King's Landing:**  
+Early morning: Ser Gregor Clegane, still in shock over his defeat at the hands of a woman, departs the city with, in the words of his brother, "his tail between his legs."  
+The third and final day of the Tourney: the archery and melee are held on this day; the champions of these events are, respectively: Anguy, a commoner of the Dornish Marches, and Thoros, a Myrish priest of the Red Faith.  
+That afternoon, (and inspired by a suggestion by Fred) a trade fair is held on the tourney grounds. Merchants and craftsmen from throughout the Seven Kingdoms (and several from across the Narrow Sea too) arrive to peddle their wares while various musicians and street performers keep the crowds amused. In particular, the stall set up by Fred and VENI draws immense crowds, all jostling to see more of the Sky-People's "sorcery". The revenue raised by the trade fair helps recuperate some 2,400 Gold Dragons for the royal treasury – a drop in the bucket compared to the total cost of the tourney, but it's something.  
+A grand feast is held to celebrate the end of the tourney. However, the festivities are cut short when the Queen, the Crown Prince, and a member of the Kingsguard are struck by a mysterious illness in the middle of the banquet. They are able to survive thanks to VENI's quick medical intervention, thus earning King Robert's gratitude. However, the question remains as to whom was the perpetrator of this attack.  
+Night: Fred secretly admits to VENI to having been the instigator of the "poisoning" – what appears to have been a political assassination was actually a laxative prank aimed at Joffrey that backfired because Fred did not consider the possibility that the Lannisters would suffer an allergic reaction to the medical TRXY-180 serum used.  
+Interestingly, the particular dose of TRXY-180 used had been modified to target Joffrey's DNA alone, but for some reason also affected Queen Cersei and Ser Jaime. After launching an investigation into this anomaly, Fred and VENI discover that Joffrey is, in fact, the product of incest between Queen Cersei and Ser Jaime.  
+While convening with Daniel via hologram, VENI detects and intercepts a spy whom they suspect belongs to Varys, but cannot confirm it just yet, as the spy had taken a poison after being discovered so as to protect the identity of his master.

**Day 93:  
King's Landing:**  
+In immediate response to the "poisoning attempt", King Robert orders a crackdown throughout the capital. Although the identity of the conspirators is as-yet unknown to him, he strongly suspects that the perpetrators may have been loyalists to the Targaryen regime.  
+A young serving boy in the employ of the Red Keep dies from wounds he sustained the night before; he had been employed as a taster at the feast, and had been savagely beaten by the Lannister household guards for his apparent failure to detect the poison in the wine served to the Queen and to the Crown Prince.

**Day 94  
UNSV ****_Belo Horizonte_****, in orbit over Planet EE-L0:**  
+Brandon Stark awakens, having been in a coma for 57 days since his fall on Day 37. Brandon is intrigued and fascinated by this strange and new location he has found himself in, although he is also comforted by the fact that his direwolf (whom he names "Summer") is with him. The ship's crew are very accommodating and friendly towards Bran, but he also seems to be having strange visions as of late, almost as if something were calling him to come to Planet EE-L0…  
**King's Landing:**  
+On the orders of Lord Janos Slynt, three men suspected of having ties to the Targaryens are beaten and summarily executed on the spot, in public. Few speak out against this incident, out of fear of drawing suspicion to themselves. However, it is speculated by some that Slynt was abusing his own personal authority as commander of the Goldcloaks and carrying out a personal vendetta against these individuals.

**Day 95: Jul24 (Jan04, 2155 C.E. in E.S.C.)**  
**Atlas Station, in orbit above Earth:**  
+The UNSV _Joseph Conrad_ departs Earth, under the command of Capt. Taylor Kaurava, with 800 crew and 5,200 passengers onboard, including: 1,200 UN personnel, 800 Company™ personnel, 3,000 colonists, as well as delegations from The Company™'s partners like the Masrani Group and Guanlong Corporation. Destination: the Epsilon Eridani System. ETA: 180 days (expected to arrive on Day 275, or Jan 20, 299 AC in the Westerosi Calendar, or Jul 03, 2155 C.E. in the Earth Standard Calendar).  
**King's Landing:**  
+While exploring the tunnels deep below the Red Keep, Arya Stark and Nymeria overhear a conversation between two as-yet unidentified individuals conspiring to sow further conflict in the Realm and a possible conspiracy against her father's life. Arya relates her concerns to her father, but is unable to recall the full details of everything that has been said, and is disbelieved as a result.  
**Casterly Rock, Westerlands:**  
+A raven dispatch arrives from King's Landing. Lord Tywin Lannister is enraged by the news of the poisoning attempt on his son, daughter, and grandson, and secretly begins mustering his forces. He does not yet know who was behind it, but he isn't about to let this slight upon his house's honor go unpunished. Whoever it may have been, Tywin is determined to teach them the meaning of "The Rains Of Castamere."

**Day 96: Jul25  
King's Landing:**  
+Morning: King Robert Baratheon orders an assassin dispatched to Essos to kill Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen as retaliation for the "poisoning." Lord Stark has a difference of opinion with his childhood friend, and resigns the Handship in protest of Robert's decision.  
+While preparing to leave the capital, Ned is approached by Tyrion Lannister, who voices to Ned his suspicions of corruption and embezzlement on Lord Baelish's part. Ned concludes that Baelish may have been behind the "poisoning", but does not share any further details with Tyrion as he does not fully trust him yet.  
+Afternoon: Ned and his household guard confront Lord Baelish at one of his brothels and attempt to arrest him; Baelish, however, is able to escape, not least of all, thanks to the intervention of Ser Jaime Lannister (who mistakenly believes that the Starks were behind the poisoning). Jory Cassel and four other Stark men-at-arms are killed in the ensuing scuffle, as well as seven Lannister men-at-arms. Ned himself is critically wounded in a duel with Ser Jaime, but is saved thanks to the last minute intervention of Fred and VENI.  
+Ser Jaime Lannister flees King's Landing on horseback.  
+King Robert, enraged to learn about Littlefinger's treachery, declares Lord Baelish a traitor to the Realm, all his titles revoked, all his properties confiscated, and his life forfeit. However, by then, Lord Baelish is reported to have disappeared entirely: the Goldcloaks raid his various properties throughout the city and find them half-empty, all valuable items like gold and documents removed.

**Day 97: Jul26  
King's Landing:**  
+Lord Janos Slynt and the Goldcloaks begin a thorough search of the entire city for Littlefinger, complete with checking every ship that leaves the port, checking every individual who enters or leaves the gates. VENI, however, is unable to assist in these efforts as she is needed to provide medical care to Ned Stark.  
**Winterfell:**  
+Robb Stark and many Northern nobles are furious when they are informed of the Kingslayer's unprovoked attack on Ned. Robb requests of Daniel if he can spare 10 seats on the Falcon-ship to send replacements household guards to ensure Ned, Arya, and Sansa's continued safety. This time, however, Robb decides to send 10 of his newly trained rifleman as (what he hopes will be) a show of strength against the Lannisters.

**Day 98: Jul27  
En route to the Epsilon Eridani System:**  
+After three days of sub-light acceleration, the _UNSV Joseph Conrad_ crosses the lightspeed barrier and begins the main phase of its 6-month voyage to Epsilon Eridani.  
**White Harbor:**  
+The brand new _Little Merman_ is completed and begins trials. Lord Wyman Manderly is enthusiastic over his investment and plans to build not only more steamboats to run trade up and down the White Knife River, but also to invest in a fleet of 'clippers' to dominate trade in the Narrow Sea and further beyond.

**Day 99: Jul28  
King's Landing:**  
+Ned awakens after having been in a coma for three days after his injury. King Robert and Queen Cersei pay him a visit. Ned and Cersei have a disagreement over what exactly happened at the brothel. Robert, however, proves that he is more inclined to believe Ned's version of the story. Ned and Robert reconcile somewhat; Ned is reappointed back to the Handship. As a "good will gesture" towards the Lannisters, Ned suggests naming Tyrion Lannister as Lord Baelish's replacement (even if only as an interim).  
+Fred and VENI pay an impromptu visit to Queen Cersei in her private quarters with the intention of "negotiating" (IE: coercing) her and her brother Jaime into signing an agreement with The Company™…

**Day 100: Jul29  
Dragonstone:**  
+Falcon03 drops off Ser Davos back on Dragonstone en route to King's Landing to pick up Fred and VENI.  
**King's Landing:  
**+Falcon03 arrives, dropping off Ned's replacement guards and picking up Fred and VENI. It's been a hectic and jam-packed couple of weeks down in the capital. Nevertheless, they are optimistic that they have achieved their primary goal. They begin making preparations for their next big trip to the south in a few weeks' time...

**Day 102: Jul31  
The Moon:**  
+Partly in the name of science and partly in the name of arrogance, The Company™ launches a scientific expedition to Planet EE-L4's moon, designated "EE-L4-M1". This expedition is led by Dr. Cristina DiStefano and her research team, who are currently visiting from their normal posting at the EE-L0 colony. Sgt. Hawthorne petitions Fred and Daniel that the honor of being the first to walk upon the moon should go to one of the Westerosi natives; they agree, and Corporal Jon Snow is chosen to have this honor. After the important scientific work is done, Fred challenges his co-workers to a golf match - one that is won, not surprisingly, by VENI.  
+During this mission, several hundred kilograms of "thaumically potent" moon rocks are collected by the exploration team and brought back for further testing and analysis…

**Day 103: Aug01  
Winter Town:**  
+News of Jaime's attack on Ned prompts widespread public outrage. Many even begin to question the legitimacy of rule by a king who allows such blatant slights to go unpunished, and why should the North continue to submit to a "Southron monarchy" when the North now possesses the means to secure its own independence thanks to the Sky-People.

**Day 105: Aug 03  
King's Landing:**  
+Chaos continues to plague the Crown down in the capital in the wake of Lord Baelish's sudden departure (along with a not-insignificant portion of the Royal Treasury). At Lord Eddard Stark's recommendation (and in spite of Queen Cersei's protests), King Robert Baratheon has Tyrion Lannister appointed to the office of Master Of Coin. Queen Cersei is not amused.

**Day 112: Aug10  
Winter Town:**  
+The first ever population census ever performed of Winterfell and its surrounding "province" (a new official subdivision created by Robb) is completed. The population of Winter Town in particular is shown to have ballooned to nearly 10,000 - a number usually only achieved during the height of the winter years, when farmers from the surrounding countryside take refuge in the town. Based on these numbers, Lord Mayor Daryl Mollen expects the population to reach as high as 25,000 by the next winter, and thus, adequate preparations must be made with regard to infrastructure, town-planning, and local law enforcement (like the expansion of the Winter Town Watch). Fortunately, it is projected that tax and customs revenues raised by increased trade will shoulder most of these expenses.

**Day 114: Aug12  
King's Landing, Crownlands:**  
+A riot in the Flea Bottom neighborhood convinces Ned Stark as to the current inadequacy of the Goldcloaks. Despite the arrival of 10 riflemen from his son's new army at Winterfell as replacements for Jory and the others killed by the Lannisters, Ned realizes that his own loyal forces in the capital are also inadequate, and decides to use his authority as Hand Of The King to being expanding and reforming the Goldcloaks. If and when tensions with the Lannisters inevitably come to breaking point, it will help to have a "modern" military force on your side.

**Day 115: Aug13  
Casterly Rock:**  
+Within 3 weeks of calling his banners, Lord Tywin Lannister has already marshaled an army of 12,000 troops (mainly Lannisport and Casterly Rock levies, though more are arriving each day from further afield), including a large number of sellswords and freebooters (incl. but not limited to a particular Essosi mercenary group of ill repute who call themselves "the Brave Companions" but are more commonly known by everyone else as "the Bloody Mummers").

**Day 117: Aug15  
Casterly Rock:**  
+Fred, Daniel, VENI, and Mrs. Sarah Jane Carson (head of the Office of Legal Counsel) arrive in the Westerlands aboard Falcon03 to begin preliminary negotiations with Lord Tywin Lannister for the establishment of a second colony. En route, they pick up Queen Cersei Lannister and her brother Ser Jaime and bring them onboard to help facilitate negotiations with their father. Whether or not both parties will get out of this deal what they expected to remains to be seen…


	59. Daniel 6

**[LOCATION CLASSIFIED]  
Northern Sector aka "The North"  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4**

"Are you sure it's not just an equipment malfunction?" said Daniel. He suddenly pulled his jacket closer around him – it looked to be a sunny day for the most part, but it was still early morning and a brisk breeze sent a shiver down his spine.

"That's what we thought too at first," replied Kamran Tahir, who had taken over as head of the ground survey team ever since Bill Hicks had been transferred to the EE-L5 colony. He was a bright fellow, but his worry over screwing up this new responsibility thrust unto him really showed. Right now, he and two of his coworkers in the geology department – Jessica Danvers and Robin Van der Merwe – had brought Daniel out to this neck o' the woods on this fine, brisk morning to check out a local anomaly.

Kam continued: "I even had our original equipment shipped off back to L-Zero for repairs and put in a requisitions order for replacements. Then we started using the new stuff yesterday – and we got the exact same readings as before! Not only that, but then we get a message from Dr. Garrett's lab that the old ones were working just fine all along! I'm telling ya, for the last three weeks, something unusual has been going on around here."

"Three weeks?" muttered Daniel, "that's about the time we returned from the Moon, if I recall correctly. Hmmm, I wonder…"

"We were pretty sure it wasn't the Lunar samples we'd brought back with us," added in Jessica Danvers, the tech specialist of the ground survey team, "those are locked away in storage all the way back at base; the range on these devices is less than three miles."

"Okay. Show me," commanded Daniel.

"Yes sir." She held up her thaumometer to Daniel for his inspection.

Sure enough, the boxlike magic-detection device – one of the newest to come out of The Company™'s lab and production facility on EE-L0 – was happily ticking away like a Geiger counter on a starship in the middle of a Trans-Light Jump. The needle on the analogue display was fluctuating somewhere in the range of 10 to 50 Milli-Pratchetts (thaumometers, you see, were somehow designed to have _both_ a digital _and_ an analogue display… probably for retro-aesthetic reasons, Daniel figured). He had done his background reading, but with all the complex details and new units of measurement and all the values to remember, it was easy to get confused. "Umm… so it's showing, uh, something," remarked Daniel, "sorry I don't remember what the exact values are supposed to mean, so can anyone explain if '10-50 Milli-Pratchetts' is problematic?"

"I can do that," chimed in Robin Van der Merwe in a slight Afrikaans accent. He was a geologist by training, and not a theoretical physicist, but the fact that he was a recent transfer from the labs on L-Zero meant that he had inadvertently wound up as the L4 survey team's resident magic expert. He continued: "as you know, the fundamental unit that we've adopted for measuring 'raw magical energy' is the Thaum, with a single Thaum being the amount needed to conjure up either a small white dove, or three normal-sized billiard balls." He laughed. "Just kidding. No, the Thaum is the amount of thaumic energy needed, at least under the conditions of Planet EE-L0, to perform the exact same amount of work done as 100.0 Joules of energy. We have yet to see if the magic energy output requirements are different here on EE-L4, or on L5, though."

"Ah, okay. But... a _hundred_ Joules?" said Daniel, "why not just _one_ Joule? Makes it easier to translate real world physics into magic fantasy handwavium applied phlebotinum physics."

Robin shrugged. "We wanted a single Thaum to sound more impressive on paper. I mean, what sounds better: a single Thaum accelerating a _one_-kilogram mass at 1.0 m/s^2 for 1.0 meter, or a single Thaum accelerating a _hundred_-kilogram mass at 1.0 m/s^2 for 1.0 meter?"

"Fair enough, I guess," said Daniel, "but I'm surprised Dr. Garrett and co didn't start naming everything after themselves."

"They decided to have a vote among the team at to what the basic units would be called," replied Robin, "so the basic unit of 'magic' ended up as the 'Thaum'. And the basic unit of 'magical radiation' is the 'Pratchett' – that one we named in honor of the late British theoretical physicist, Sir Gneil Pratchett, whose prolific work on dark energy formed some of the basis for our current work on thaumaturgy."

"That's real nice of you guys," said Daniel.

"Yep," nodded Robin, "so that's the basic units for you. But the more specialized units are a bloody fockin' free-for-all if you ask me. Dr. DiStefano is already calling dibs on naming the… now what the fock was it again? Ah yes, the unit for measuring the '_innate magic potential of individual Human beings_' – yes, she wants to name that after herself."

"Well, leave it to dear Cristina to do something like that…" laughed Daniel, "what about you? You were on their geology and mineralogy team, after all."

"Eh, my pay grade's not high enough," said Robin, flatly. "But yep, back to the main point: the Pratchett is the base unit for measuring concentrations of residual thaumic radiation in the air – it's about one Thaum per unit volume of 100 cubic meters (yes, thaumic radiation works very differently from 'conventional' EM-spectrum radiation)... (and yes, we have different units for measuring thaumic potential in a liquid or a solid – that would be the _Gaiman_, after physicist Sir Pterry Gaiman). Now, background thaumic radiation can vary wildly: on Earth, the planet's average background Thaumic radiation is negligible – hardly 0.01 MicroPratchetts or so. By contrast, the average background Thaumic levels across Planet EE-L0 are in the low MilliPratchett-range. And that's before we get into the planet's polar regions: some of those areas are speculated to be somewhere in the KiloPratchett to MegaPratchett-range – at those levels, the very fabric of space-time itself is _warped_."

"Basically, what Rob is saying is that we're finding localized residual Thaumic radiation in this area almost on the level of L-Zero," added in Jess, "and given what that usually means over on _that_ planet, you're damn right we're now worried – especially as these recordings have only started cropping up recently."

Daniel was knowledgeable in many things, but this new emerging field of "Thaumaturgy" was not yet one of them. But if the folks who did know at least a thing or two about it were worried, then so was he. "Can we trust these devices?" he asked, "like, how accurate are they?"

"Obviously, the magic detectors are a new innovation, so we're still working out the details," said Robin, "but the latest batch of handheld field devices – this one included – are supposed to be rated for over 9,000 Pratchetts with an error of +/- 0.1 MilliPratchetts. For any higher accuracy than that, you'd need one of the larger lab-based ones."

Daniel was still trying to wrap his mind around all these concepts. More than that, however, he was trying to understand what this could all mean. Yes, after nearly four months in the system, The Company™ was finally starting to grasp all of this 'magic' stuff that was afoot over on L-Zero and L5. And sure enough, once The Company™ had grasped something – anything really – the next question was how to patent it, and package it, and slap it on a plastic lunchbox and sell it. But L4 was different: with the exception of a few places, like the Wall and everything north of it, the planet was otherwise pretty "magically dead".

And yet, here they stood now – not more than ten miles from the colony at most, mulling over an apparent source of magic that had just appeared out of nowhere like… like magic! They had checked and scanned this entire area before. Hell, even when Dr. DiStefano and her team had visited here almost a month ago, bringing with them the first batch of Thaumometers from the lab on L-Zero, they still hadn't found anything extraordinary.

And then, only a few days after the Moon expedition, while the survey team was out and about scouting out new areas to expand the quarry, some of the devices had started acting up. Of course, at the time, Kam had dismissed it as a simple equipment malfunction and didn't report it. No biggie: they just sent off the devices DiStefano had left them on the next outbound Valk and waited for replacements. Then, yesterday, when said replacements started showing up the same results in this area, that was when they finally called it in.

Kam was now visibly worried about how his decision not to report that initial anomaly would reflect on his record, especially as he'd only just taken over as the head of the colony's geo-team. Truth be told, Daniel was indeed half-tempted to tell him off. Then again, he along with Fred and even _VENI_ (of all people!) had almost caused a disaster not too long ago by withholding information from each other, so it's not like Daniel himself was above it all either. No, he'd just let Kam off with a warning this time.

"So let me just make sure I'm getting all the facts straight," said Daniel, "you're absolutely sure that the Moon rock samples we have stored back at the lab aren't causing any of this flux?"

"Well, uh, not _directly_," said Kam, "it's like Jess said, we're ten miles away from the main compound right now, well out of range of these smaller handheld devices. Whatever's causing it is nearby."

"Okay, but what do you mean by 'not directly'?" said Daniel.

"What my colleague means is that they might be an _indirect_ cause of it," interjected Robin. "It's like an exothermic reaction: thaumic energy, like heat, stored in a solid and inert form, until an external source of 'magic' supplies the activation energy needed to kick start the reaction. In this case, something, uh, 'magical' might be reacting to the thaumic radiation bleedin' off the Lunar samples."

"Okay," said Daniel, "if _something_ is reacting to our presence here, then it's probably within our best interests to know just what exactly it is. Have you been able to pinpoint its exact location?"

"No, not yet," said Kam, "that's why we sent off that drone just before we left camp. Jess is working on it right now."

"Speaking of which," said Jess as she pulled out her holo-tablet and began pulling up several data files. "Our aerial drone is equipped with a newly-installed Thaumometer; for the last hour, while we were on our way here, it's been circling this area, taking readings. It might take a few minutes, but based on the recordings taken here and at other sites, we might be able to triangulate the focal point of these localized Thaumic fluctuations."

She got to work. Within seconds, her tablet began constructing a holographic map of the area, complete with individual real-time readings of Thaumic frequencies and amplitude indicated in red. The holograph then began to trace lines between the different points and placed a red dot at a point on the map where several of these lines intersected.

"Bingo!" remarked Jess. "We've traced the focal point of these thaumic fluctuations to Grid Reference B5467… that's about three klicks northeast of our current position. It… it seems to be located underground."

"Hang on," said Kam, "are you sure that's right, Jess? We swept that area twice before with both satellite and aerial GPR – there was nothing there!"

"Well, evidently, there is _now_," she replied.

"Then it looks like we've got some exploring to do," said Daniel, "alright guys, to the Cat!"

Within moments, Daniel and the three ground surveyors had all climbed back aboard the Wild Cat and strapped in for the ride. Robin was driving; he entered the coordinates indicated by Jess' tablet into the Cat's sat-nav, and then hit the gas and gunned the 900 horsepower engine forward (well, more of a _hum _actually - the great electric synchronous motor itself was surprisingly quiet, and most of the noise came from the vehicle's wheels churning up the ground).

The area around them was rugged and heavily wooded – these were the foothills to the Northern Mountains. But the Wild Cat Light-Utility Vehicle was built precisely to handle terrain like this and more, loudly chewing up the soil and brush and any unfortunate road kill beneath those immense 44-inch-tires, built from nano-reinforced hard composites that could resist temperatures up to a thousand degrees Celsius and basically existed for no other reason than to make ordinary rubber tires sit in the corner and cry like a little bitch. Thick vegetation and brush was simply no match for the ravenous beast as it trudged on, swiftly quickly climbing and descending one hill after another. And sure enough, as they drove on and on, the Thaumic readings had started to intensify.

Up ahead lay a shallow stream; the Wild Cat surged ahead into the stream, making a splash, before trudging on up the other bank – thanks to the vehicle's 20 inches of ground clearance, the driver and passengers all remained high and dry.

"Here!" cried Jess at last as the Wild Cat crashed through more of the undergrowth and emerged onto a clearing in the woods. Robin brought the vehicle to a screeching halt. Everyone looked up – sure enough, they could see the little white recon drone they had sent off that morning, gracefully flying in circles high above them.

Daniel unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out of the Cat; the vehicle was still dripping with water and mud and bits of mauled undergrowth. Jess followed close behind, carrying her thaumometer and checking the readings once again. The device was ticking like crazy – so rapidly in fact that it sounded more like a single continuous sound than a series of clicks. The analogue display, meanwhile, was oscillating so rapidly that the needle actually seemed to hold completely still – it had stabilized around 128.7 MilliPratchetts, according to the digital display.

"This is it!" she cried, excitedly, "we should be standing right on top of it!"

"Alright," said Daniel, and turned to face the rest of the crew. "You heard her! Unpack the ground penetration equipment!"

Kam and Robin climbed down from the Cat and went to work, unloading the plastic crates that were in the vehicle's boot, strapped down (a necessary precaution, in light of Robin's driving habits). Within minutes, the portable ground penetrating radar and ultrasound equipment had all been unpacked and set up: a simple and otherwise unassuming black boxlike device set up atop a tripod, and connected via thick black cables to four smaller devices, all set up on the ground, all spread out 10 meters apart from one another. When that was done, the crew had little to do but twiddle their thumbs and wait until the machine had finished its work – which only took a few seconds actually.

Sure enough, the box clicked and a green light flashed, indicating that it was done. Then, the holo-projector built into it immediately lit up and began constructing a 3D holographic map of all of the strata, up to 300m deep and within a half-mile-radius. The results were… not quite what was expected.

"My God!" exclaimed Kam, almost pinching himself as he looked over the results of the ground scan. "How the hell did we miss _that_ the first time 'round?"

"Don't be too hard on yourself, it's not your fault," said Daniel. "It's obvious that whoever or whatever made this… _thing_ made it such that it requires some type of magic to find it."

"Whatever the case, we'd better report this pronto," said Jess, "and then find out just what the hell is this thing."

"Good idea," replied Daniel, "how soon can we have an excavation team here?"

"Fairly quickly," answered Jess. "We had Alpha and Bravo Dig-teams on standby once we identified a new pocket of ore to open up – though it now looks like whatever we've just found has just taken top priority. Hmm… it doesn't look to be very deep, so we should be able to reach it pretty quickly with just our light equipment."

"Good. I'll send for Alpha-Team immediately," said Daniel. He grabbed his MyPhone from his pocket and dialed in HQ's number. The call was immediately answered by a familiar voice.

"Assistant Director Zimmerman," came the voice of VENI over the speakers as her holographic image materialized in front of the crew, "Director Kovacs is currently engaged out in the A12 Sector of our central compound, coordinating the ongoing expansion of our steel foundry facilities with Foreman N. Morrissey. However, if it is a matter of urgency, as I presume may very well be the case judging from your behavior, I shall relay your message directly to him. Based on your current location, I hypothesize that your call is related to the recent Thaumic radiation anomalies reported by the geological survey team of Foreman K. Tahir. Is this the case?"

"Yes it is," said Daniel, "we believe we've found the, uh, source."

"Very well, Assistant Director Zimmerman. I shall notify Director Kovacs and Chief Engineer Trevino immediately." VENI paused for a nano-second. "Done. Alpha Dig-Team has been notified and will be en route to your current location momentarily. Would you like me to notify Sergeant Hawthorne as well?"

"Is that necessary?" interjected Kam, "I mean, we're all already armed here. And in any case, we're running a dig-site, not a shooting gallery."

"Correction, Foreman Tahir," asserted VENI, "when one is addressing an unknown variable, particularly one related to a scientific phenomenon discovered only within the last calendar year, one must consider all possible permutations of the outcome that may arise out of this scenario. As I cannot as yet speculate with near-100% certainty as to what you may find, I must therefore highly recommend that you take adequate precautionary measures."

"VENI's right," said Daniel, "better safe than sorry. Alright, VENI, send for the sarge… and call in the White Wolves too: tell them we've got their first mission assignment for them!"

"Affirmative. However, I must correct your assertion, Assistant Director Zimmerman: technically, the first proper (IE: non-training) deployment of our colony's locally-enlisted private paramilitary corps aka 'White Wolves' would be the expedition that we mounted to Moonlet EE-L4-M1."

"Um… sure," said Daniel, "whatever. Just send for Corporal Snow and his platoon... oh, and have them bring some of the newly-issued stuff as well. I need someone here we can rely on."

* * *

_**Footnotes:**_

**_IN MEMORIAM__: _**

_Sir Terry Pratchett, OBE_

_April 28, 1948 - March 12, 2015_

_"Imagination, not intelligence, is what made us Human."_


	60. Jon 4

**Jon (IV)**

At exactly 0500 hours, Private Thomas Billings of the United Nations Colonial Marine Corps came around to give the wakeup call.

"Rise n' shine, ladies!" boomed the voice of Private Tom throughout the barracks. The big, buff, boisterous bannerman practically broke down the door as he entered, shouting. Everyone was awake immediately. "What're y'all waitin' for, breakfast in bed?" he continued, "Haven't y'all heard? A day in the militia is like a day on the farm: every meal is a banquet… every paycheck, a fortune… every formation, a parade! So get a move on! We begin in five."

Private Tom Billings was only a common rifleman in the Sky-People's military, the "Colonial Marine Corps", but he and his fellow Marines had all been appointed to take turns serving as drill instructors for The Company's new "native militia", the White Wolves. Tom continued to make his way up and down the barracks, making sure that all the new recruits were shaking a leg and getting to it, and of course, shouting all manner of colorful Sky-People language at anyone who wasn't climbing out of bed fast enough. Tom wasn't a particularly tall man, but with arms that looked like they could crush a man's skull and an appropriately loud voice to match, everyone simply _had_ to obey.

Jon, of course, was one of the first ones out of their bunks and on their feet – he had been tasked as one of the leaders of the platoon, and as such, he felt the burden to perform and set an example more so than anyone else in the corps. It was a great honor indeed that had been given to a bastard as he, a second life, and he would be twice-damned, by the Old Gods and the New, not to live up to it. _If only father could see me now_, he thought, and abruptly found himself thinking of his half-brothers and half-sisters too, and of Catelyn as well. _No, no time to think about that right now – long day ahead of us, must stay focused_.

Ghost, who slept at his master's feet, was likewise up and active, sitting attentively and waiting to follow his master. When Tom strode past his bunk, Jon stood at attention and saluted. The Marine stopped, acknowledged him, then bent down and petted Ghost. "Good boy," he said in his gruff voice, and withdrew a large bone from his pocket with his other hand – presumably taken from the colony's kitchens. The direwolf sniffed and prodded its nose at the bone, and then began happily gnawing away. _That was just like Tom_, thought Jon – treating the men like utter shit but still showing a soft spot for Ghost. From what Jon heard, the chap had a dog too back home, and Ghost reminded him of it.

After Tom left, Jon quickly got dressed up in his fatigues, buckled up his boots, and checked his looks in the mirror to make sure he was all in order (easier these days, now that he and the others had all been made to shave their heads). He then made his bed, closed his locker, and then went about the barracks, making sure the rest of his squad followed suit. "Well, you heard 'im, lads!" he called out, "let's get a move on! Let's show the Sarge what we're made of!"

"Ooh-rah!" cried Grenn.

"White Wolves!" cried Pypar.

"WHITE WOLVES!" cheered the rest of the men in response.

Ghost himself, their honored namesake, did not bark in agreement, but Jon could tell that he was just as excited as the rest of the men by the way he behaved.

The barracks that housed the men of the White Wolves was separate from those that housed the Sarge and the Colonial Marines, located on the other side of the training grounds. Jon was told that this was a "modest building" by Sky-People standards, but to some of the men, it was a veritable palace: electrical lighting, heating, running water, flushing toilets… each trooper even had his own locker and a _mirror_. Jon wondered if most Southron knights lived as well as this!

The price, of course, was that each and every one of them was expected to follow orders and give the corps their all. For a Silver Stag a day, of course, this wasn't a problem for most of the men – most of them had been lowly farmhands or huntsmen in their old lives, living day-to-day off of whatever they could grow or catch with their own hands. For once, to have a reliable daily inflow of coin, as well as not to mention this _fantastic_ housing provided free of charge, three hot meals a day, and a hot shower at night (Gods, _especially_ the hot showers every night)… how could most people in the Realm say no to that?

Jon, however, and a few others, had joined for different reasons: enlisting in the militia had given them acceptance, and a sense of purpose and direction. The Sky-People came from a world where a man's place within it stemmed from the strength of his character and not from the blood in his veins, and their military was no different. Some of the men here in the barracks came from pasts they'd much rather leave behind and speak no more of. Very well. Joining the corps meant that whatever they had been before, they were now a White Wolf first and foremost.

And if they could not live up to the standards expected of them, well, the exit was right around the corner. Ten men had dropped out in the first month – as far as Jon knew, three of them had found new jobs working in the mines, one of them now worked at the colony's pub and brewery, and two others had re-enlisted in Robb's new army at Winterfell. _Good for them_, thought Jon, but it was clear that the White Wolves were held to a far higher standard than the regulars in the First Army Of The North (not that he was in any way trying to compete against his half-brother… Robb's army still outnumbered Jon's by only about, say, 250 to one).

And so, whether it was for coin or for cause, most of the men accepted their place within the corps, and everything – good, bad, or downright ugly – that entailed.

At 0505 hours, when all the men had changed into their fatigues, they all shuffled outside. Like most mornings here in the North, it was frigid; it was still well before sunrise, but the grounds were well lit up with those "LED floodlights". As he led the pack out into the training grounds, Jon could see that the Colonial Marines were already out and about, and had been since 0400 hours, engaging in their various "calisthenics." Even when not in armor, Jon had to admit that the Sky-People's bannermen were a pretty impressive group of individuals – and probably would be more so if it wasn't for their attitude …

"Hey, _ragazzi_, look! _Guarda_!" called out Private Vincenzo Manfredi, Sniper, getting the attention of his fellow Marines, "here comes the fresh meat! Is it breakfast already?"

"Don't be such a douche to the new guys, Vinny," retorted Private Faryd Khedira, Electronics &amp; Communications Specialist, "yeah, sure, the nine of us could probably kick all forty of their asses in a fist fight, but there's no need to rub it in."

Being heckled by the Marines was, of course, part of the daily routine – clearly meant to beat the White Wolves into shape and bond together over their common rivalry with their Sky-People counterparts. There were only nine of them, but each one of them certainly looked like they could take on four, maybe five of the Wolves in a scuffle, and that was before you threw in the much nicer-looking armor and equipment they wore in full combat.

Up ahead was Private Isabel "Izzy" Rodriguez, Heavy Weapons Specialist: a woman with larger muscles than most men Jon had ever seen in his life. Jon secretly thought to himself that she would have made a very good Martell – she had both the look of a Dornishwoman and the hot-blooded, spicy attitude to boot, and unlike the other Kingdoms, Dorne was a place where stories of warrior women ran strongly.

"Eighty… seven…" she huffed and puffed as she hung from a bar, performing pull-ups. It was a frigid morning, but the sweat was pouring down her olive skin in rivulets. "Eighty… eight… Eighty… nine… Ninety…"

"Hey Izzy!" shouted Grenn, "have you ever been mistaken for a man?"

"No," she replied nonchalantly, pulling herself up a ninety-first time, hardly batting an eye. "Have you?"

Right next to Rodriguez, Jon could see Private Benjamin "Benji" Elway, Rifleman, and Private Miroslav "Miro" Blaskowitz, also a Rifleman, sparring away, like a pair of shaved bears. Both men were standing completely bare-chested in the cold early morning breeze, coated in a film of sweat, but that hardly seemed to bother them at all.

"You scared, motherfucker?" taunted Benji at Miro. He laughed. "You should be, cos' this U.S. Army Ranger's gonna kick yo big ass!"

Miro, unphased, planted a punch right to Benji's gut, though the lad blocked it. "I eat Army Rangers for breakfast..." declared Miro in a deep, thick accent (that had taken a while for Jon to understand, but was now somewhat used to). He punched again, this time knocking Benji back, though the latter still remained on his toes. "...And right now, I'M VERY HUNGRY!"

"Man, these guys eat WAY too much red meat," laughed Private Moqi Shang, Riflewoman, watching the two hulking brutes pounding away at each other. She and her best friend in the squad, Private Kasumi Hamada, Medic, had finished their own calisthenics.

"Tell me about it. It'll be my job to patch Miro-_san_ and Benji-_san_ back together at the end of the day," replied Kasumi, rolling her eyes. She then turned to look up at the gathering crowd of Northmen. "Aw, how cute; Tom's woken up the puppies."

"Alright, that's enough, you two," bellowed Tom, breaking up the fight between Benji and Miro, "you can continue your dick measuring on your time. Right now, we've gotta bunch o' wolf pups here that need some beatin' up to shape!"

The Sergeant himself arrived on the grounds moments later and personally led the first round of morning exercises. It was the usual: rounds of stretches, push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, and then a couple-mile jog around the perimeter fence of the entire compound. The eight Marines had already finished their wake-up exercises, and so they instead were tasked with marching about, inspecting the new recruits, and of course [ahem] providing "encouragement" and "appropriate motivation" to anyone who fell too far behind...

At 0600 hours, when all was said and done, the troops were marched off to the mess for breakfast. The mess hall was a massive building of concrete, thick steel beams, and so-called "corrugated sheets" that The Company had erected in record time thanks to their never-ending marvels. The main hall could seat 500 people, and was already starting to fill up with the mine and foundry workers as the White Wolves piled in. Many were jostling for the best seats, those next to those three big moving pictures, those "televisions" that The Company had set up to keep the workers entertained during meal-times. Four months and the sheer wonder and novelty of it still ran strongly.

The troops, of course, had their own separate mess, contained in a separate room branching out from the main hall. Breakfast was the usual: cornbread fresh from the colony's bakery, scrambled eggs, crispy slices of bacon, hash browns, and all of it washed down with a cup of this incredibly bitter yet invigorating drink called "coffee". The troops all ate much better than the regular workers – in fact, according to the Marines, these "A-rations" were a luxury: when they first left their homeworld almost a year ago, they'd never realized they would be able to purchase farm produce locally, and so they had expected to spend all these months living off of these so-called "rehydratable ration packs" which no reasonably sane human being would touch with a ten-foot pole.

The Colonial Marines all sat together at the mess hall's high table with the Sergeant, along with the two Falcon-ship pilots: Lieutenant Nolan McConaughey, pilot of Falcon 03, and Lieutenant Francesca "Frankie" Conran, pilot of Falcon 04, and five of the mechanics tasked with repairing and maintaing the Falcons. Jon, by now, had had explained to him to some extent the military structures and organizations employed by the Sky-People, and now knew that the lieutenants and their crew were not Marines, but were instead from a completely different branch of the Sky-People military, the "Star Fleet".

The existence of such a thing as a professional and organized military was quite a revelation to Jon. Yes, he had once heard that Old Valyria used to employ professional citizen legions to police their empire, but the exact nature and details of these forces usually took second place in the history books and in the popular imagination next to the great dragons, the real stars of Old Valyria, even if actual dragon-riders only made up a tiny but highly elite force within the empire. Well, like Old Valyria, the Sky-People army, the "United Nations Colonial Defense Force" employed mighty dragon-ships and falcon-ships armed with these flashy devices called "homing missiles" and "pulse lasers" and "Gatling cannons", but only a tiny handful actually piloted these great beasts, and the rest of the UNCDF were ordinary fighting men and women (ah yes, the inclusion of women into their war-hosts was another revelation for Jon, though to be fair, when said women included the likes of Izzy Rodriguez, this was somewhat understandable).

The main ground troops of the Sky-People were the Colonial Marines, and they were all organized into the squads, platoons, companies, battalions, brigades, and finally divisions under the "United Nations Colonial Marine Corps". All of their ships, however, were a completely different organization, the "United Nations Star Fleet" (or "UNSF"), and from what Jon understood, they performed both military and "civilian" tasks, such as exploration and commercial shipping. There were other branches of service too – there was a formal network of spies and whisperers called the "Intelligence &amp; Security Office" (or "ISO"), as well as a law enforcement force akin to a town watch but meant to police _entire worlds_, called the "Military Police Corps". There was even a small, select group of elite knights of the Sky-People called "the Omega Force" – considering what the regular UNCDF Marines were like, Jon could only imagine what these "Omega Commandos" must have been like…

It had also been impressed on Jon that no, the White Wolves were not part of the UNCDF – officially, they were a "privately-created paramilitary organization approved by the UN Colonial Militia Administration". The UNCDF were here to train, supervise, and assume temporary command over the White Wolves until they had completed training and were ready to take over for themselves. Thus, technically, they answered directly to Lord Frederick Kovacs and Ser Daniel Zimmerman, but Sergeant Hawthorne had been appointed as their executive officer for now.

At 0630 hours, breakfast was over and both the Marines and the Wolves filed out for the bulk of today's training.

At 0730 hours, after the first hour of training exercises, the armory was unlocked and Jon was reunited with his _second_ best friend on this entire compound after Ghost.

"This is my rifle…" whispered Jon to himself, reciting an old folk proverb of the Sky-Peoples taught to him by the Sergeant, as he lay on his belly, sprawled out on the grass and mud, fixing his eyes and every ounce of concentration his mind could muster on the small wooden target, a hundred yards away…

**_BANG!_**

_Ka-clink _went the bolt as he pulled it back, then forward, ejecting the spent cartridge and sliding a new one from the clip into the breech.

"…There are many like it, but this one is mine…" he continued…

**_BANG!_**

_Ka-clink._

"…My rifle is my best friend. It is my life…"

**_BANG!_**

_Ka-clink._

"…I must master it as I must master my life."

**_BANG!_**

_Ka-clink._

That's when training was interrupted by a call over the radio. The Sergeant ordered Jon and the three other Corporals, Hullen, Damion, and Loghan, to report to the armory immediately.

At 0742 hours, the four leaders of the White Wolves and the nine Colonial Marines assembled in the main room of the armory.

"Alright, listen up!" barked the Sergeant as he strode into the room. "The survey team has found something and Mr. Kovacs has very nicely asked us to guard the excavation crew while they work – a precaution, yes, but an understandable one. We are to deploy immediately."

"Great, another babysitting mission," muttered Private Moqi to herself.

"This gonna be a stand-up fight or just another scavenger hunt?" mused Tom.

The Sergeant willfully ignored this and continued, calmly but sternly: "all we know so far is that the survey team has recorded localized thaumic anomalies in the area, so we should be prepared for anything – just in case a _thaumomorph_ or otherwise may be involved."

"_Thaumo_-what?" asked Miro, puzzled.

"It's a scavenger hunt," said Tom.

"Rodriguez! Manfredi! Blaskowitz! Billings!" commanded the Sergeant, "you'll come with me. The rest of you will remain here, but stay frosty just in case something goes wrong and we end up needing backup. Elway! You'll remain in charge here. Have I made myself understood?"

"Sir, yes sir!" boomed the Marines all at once.

The Sarge turned to face Jon and the other Northmen present. "Snow! Damion! Hullen! Loghan! I've called you here because I want the White Wolves 1st and 2nd Fire-Teams providing backup – that's you, Snow and Hullen. The rest of you will remain here under Elway's command."

"Sir, yes sir!" replied Jon and his three fellow Wolves.

"Alright then," barked the Sergeant, addressing everyone, "you all have your orders. Rendezvous at the motor pool in full kit in t-minus 10 minutes. Move out!"

* * *

_**Footnotes:**_

_1\. The UNCDF recruits its troops from among the various militaries of Earth (part of a treaty agreement among the UN-member states). Hence, why Elway, a U.S. Army Ranger, is found serving alongside Blaskowitz (German/Polish), Shang (Chinese), Manfredi (Italian), Khedira (Tunisian), Hamada (Japanese), and Sergeant Hawthorne (British). This would also explain why the UNCMC would adopt different traditions from around the world, like the USMC's "Rifleman's Creed"._

_2\. Some people here and on the other website as well asked me to clarify the command structure of the troops at Autumn's Frontier. The Colonial Marines answer to the UNCDF, not to The Company™, although they were sent to this world as security detail to help defend citizens of Earth. As The Company™'s colony director, Fred can make requests of the Marines, but he cannot order them around – it is Sgt. Hawthorne who has ultimate discretion on how his squad behaves (barring a direct order from his superiors). When it was first discovered that the planets of the EE System are inhabited by potentially hostile indigenous people, the UNCDF agreed to help train and temporarily assume command of The Company™'s locally-recruited private security forces. Hence, here, the White Wolves, are under the direct de jure command of Fred, Daniel, and/or VENI (unlike the Marines), but have been placed under temporary de facto command of Sgt. Hawthorne._


	61. Daniel 7

**Excavation Site B5467  
Approx. 12 miles NE of Autumn's Frontier Main Colony  
Northern Sector aka "The North"  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4  
**  
Within an hour of his call back to base, an entire excavation team had descended on the site. First ones on the scene was a Wild Cat carrying the Sarge and four of his Marines. Right behind them came four Kodiak trucks loaded up with personnel, floodlights, portable generators, earth-moving equipment, and even a pair of HULK units. Also riding on the trucks with the digging crew were nine of the White Wolves, under the command of Corporals Snow and Hullen.

Bringing up the rear of the convoy was a second Wild Cat, carrying Fred, VENI, and Engineers Adams and Donnelly. This vehicle pulled right up to the grassy knoll where Daniel currently stood, together with the Geo-Survey team, pouring over various 3D maps of the surrounding area and the levels of strata below them.

"So what've we got here?" said Fred, as he and the other passengers climbed down from their Wild Cat, "something cool, I hope." Evidently, in honor of today's task at hand, Fred had been feeling a little adventurous, and so he wore his leather bomber jacket on top of his field coveralls, and carried a leather satchel at his side. Daniel decided he didn't even want to comment.

Jessica Danvers held up her holo-tablet and pulled up the 3D cross-sectional map generated by a mix of GPR and ultrasound. She began: "Mr. Kovacs, what we've discovered here appears to be a fairly large underground complex of some type, located 40 meters below our feet – it seems to consist of a large central chamber, with seven smaller ones branching out."

"The entire place seems to closely resemble ancient burial tombs from the Neolithic Age, back on Earth," added in Robin Van der Merwe, "only much larger. Mark my words, a structure of this kind certainly isn't natural – it's clear someone made this."

"Interesting," remarked Engineer Kelly Adams, "and we didn't discover it until now because you said it requires, uh, _magic_ to find it, correct?"

"We believe that may be the case," replied Jess, "we think that whatever magic is being stored down there may have been reacting to the 'power' emanating from the lunar samples we brought back from EE-L4-M1."

"That would make logical sense," chimed in VENI, "some of the ancient texts of the Westerosi in our database seem to attribute mystical properties to nocturnal hours and particularly to lunar activity."

"So if this place runs on 'Moon power', then why didn't it reveal itself sooner?" asked Engineer Niall Donnelly in his signature Glaswegian accent. "We've been 'ere on L4 for about 4 months now already, and the moon comes out most nights, does it not?"

"Engineer Donnelly, as to your inquiry, it is possible that the average nightly thaumic lunar radiation is insufficient to provide the requisite 'thaumic activation energy' for the uncovery of this facility," replied VENI, "probability suggests that the location of this site requires a closer, more local, and more concentrated source of thaumic radiation – something that we appear to have unintentionally achieved with the procurement of several thaumically-active lunar samples from EE-L4-M1."

"Fair enough," said Fred, and then turned back to face Daniel and the ground surveyors, "so do we know what's down there?"

"Unfortunately, the magic levels within the chamber are high enough to fock up the scanners," replied Robin. "We can identify the general shape and layout of the complex, but we can't make out what's actually inside. If we wanna know what's there, then I'm afraid we're gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way."

"Okay. So what about access tunnels?" said Fred, "if this _thing_ was made by someone, then logically there should be a way to enter and exit it."

"Yes, we've found it," said Jess. She highlighted a portion of the 3D map on her tablet. "The ground scans reveal a passageway through the strata that may have been what was used to access the place during its construction. It's actually a pretty big one – almost large enough to drive a small car down it, so our HULKs should be able to fit in it if they hunch over. It's at a roughly 30-degree angle, and the upper entrance terminates somewhere over there. The only thing is: it's now filled it in with rock … about 80 meters of it."

"80 meters of rock?" piped up Kelly, "so we're dealing with a cave-in then, correct?"

"Actually, our analysis shows no sign of a cave-in," spoke up Jess, "this passageway was filled in deliberately, using loose rock and rubble rather than the surrounding strata, which are a lot more solid. That's why we're opting to clear out the access tunnel rather than drilling straight down through the solid rock – that would just take days, unless we brought up the heavier equipment from the colony, but we're over ten miles away."

"Got it," said Fred. He paused. "Wait, so this entire complex was carved out of _solid rock_? Damn, that's impressive!"

"To be entirely fair, Director Kovacs," interjected VENI, "the object of this excavation is a construct that may have possibly been built by the very same civilization responsible for the creation of the Great Wall of Westeros – a civilization that is also claimed to have engaged in total warfare against two thaumically-active sapient races and may have driven at least one of them to extinction. By comparison, the capability of cutting and removing several hundred tons of rock in both the initial construction and the final sealing off of this facility is a straightforward and mundane task. Feats of this kind were regularly achieved by organic civilizations on Earth such as those known as 'Ancient Egypt' or 'Ancient Rome."

"Oh yeah, I remember about those magic peoples," said Fred, "something about 'Necromancing Cryokinetics'. Damn, I guess those so-called 'First Men' must have had a lot of magic at their disposal, or how else would they have driven the (what're they called again?) the '_Children of the Forest_' to extinction? I mean, magic-less Humans at a Bronze Age level of technology beating a race that had the ability to, allegedly, move continents around – that makes no sense to me, it's like the Ewoks beating the USA!"

"To be fair," quipped Jess, "the Ewoks did manage to beat the Galactic Empire, and they're quite a bit more advanced than the USA. They did build the Death Star after all. Twice."

"Actually," replied Fred, "if you watch _Return Of The Jedi_ again, you'll see that the Stormtroopers were _winning_ and had the Ewoks in full retreat up until Chewbacca hijacked one of their mechas – that's what turned the tide of the battle. Hell, from a certain point of view, Chewbacca's the real hero of the movie! Whether Luke defeated the Emperor or not, the Rebels still woulda blown up the Death Star and everyone aboard it – Luke and Vader included."

"Actually, Fred, I think you're mistaken there," interjected Niall, "if you've read the Expanded Universe novels, it's stated the Emprah was using 'Force meditation' to make the Empire's troops fight more effectively. So, once he kicked the bucket, the Imperials lost their mojo or something, and the Rebels were able to turn the tide. So there! Luke did contribute to the space battle after all!"

"I dunno, Scotty," shot Fred, "I'm pretty sure the Rebels were holding their own and beating back the Empire even before Palpatine took a plunge. And just watch Episodes 7 and after, and you'll see that the Stormtroopers didn't need the Emperor to be badasses. Besides, Expanded Universe stuff is all just flavoring – any decent film should be able to stand on its own without relying on background fluff to fill in the plot holes and inconsistence made by the original writing staff. But it's been a while since I watched the originals so maybe I'm wrong. Hey, that gives me an idea! We should do a _Star Wars_ marathon or something on movie night. I'm sure our local workers would sure get a kick out of those movies, and I hear that A.A. Jaybrahms himself will be leading the UN film crew that's coming here … anyway, enough on that little tangent. Sorry, what were we talking about again?"

VENI reminded him: "Director Kovacs, we were in the process of discussing the technological capabilities granted to the organic civilization known among the indigenes as 'The First Men' and what role thaumaturgy may have played in making possible the construction of such engineering feats as the Great Wall of Westeros, or, on a smaller scale, the subterranean chamber that we are currently in the process of excavating."

"Hang on, do we even know if it was the First Men who built this?" interrupted Daniel, "just saying it could be one of the others: the Necromancing Cryokinetics, or the Kids of the Forest, or maybe something else entirely – maybe something even _older_ than either of them. I mean, radiometric dating of some of the rocks found at our quarry show that this planet is at least a billion years old, and perhaps it's been 'magically active' for just as long. Who knows what used to live on this world and on the others too?"

"Assistant Director Zimmerman, you have raised a valid point," replied VENI, "and while I can conjecture numerous theories as to the age and nature of our find, ultimately, I cannot validate any of these hypotheses with 100% certainty until we engage in the actual physical action of exhuming this site for the purposes of our scientific explorations. Granted, such action of dealing with the unknown raises potential risks which I had felt warranted the accompaniment of an armed security detail."

"Okay, okay folks," said Jess, butting in and starting to sound somewhat annoyed by all this chatter, "I suggest we best get started now, if we want this place dug up in a timely manner. We can leave the speculation to once we've got the drills running, but let's get them unpacked first, okay?"

By 930am, the trucks had all been unloaded, and several tents had been pitched up at the site – mainly to provide shelter to the workers during breaks, just in case the weather was bad (though satellite data predicted clear skies for most of the day and tonight). Meanwhile, the four Kodiak trucks were turned around and driven back to base.

By 10am, the dig-teams were up in full steam. One of the colony's TC-34 portable mining-borers had been unpacked and assembled, and could now be found slowly but surely crunching its way through the debris-filled tunnel with relative ease. Close behind came the 2 HULK units, armed with plasma-rock cutters and drills, whose task it was to widen the roughly 3-meter-diameter shaft left by the Borer.

And behind them came a work-gang of about three dozen of the local laborers, all armed with shovels and pickaxes, led by four of The Company™'s own engineers from Earth. Their job was to clear out anything the Borer or the HULKs might have missed, as well as to set up braces to keep the ceiling from caving in – it was solid rock, but one could never be too careful. All of them were clad in yellow hardhats and bright orange safety vests, and in the ear-protectors, thick goggles, and breathing filters needed to provide protection from the dust, noise, and all the tiny jagged shards of rock thrown about at high speed by the spinning drills. In addition, the personnel from Earth had the privilege of wearing "cooling vests" to mitigate to some extent the sweltering heat emanating from up front, where the HULKs were gleefully hacking away with their plasma-cutters.

By 11am, the Borer had penetrated about 10 meters – it could dig much faster than that, but today, it was being limited by how fast the work-teams behind it could keep pace. If the Borer was allowed to advance too far ahead of them, there was the danger of a cave-in.

By 1130am, a second convoy of trucks arrived from the main colony, bringing additional supplies and equipment. The lead truck, a flatbed, carried an excavator on its back, while two others were carrying the components needed to assemble a "Caterpillar Portable Conveyor Belt".

By 12-noon, the digging ground to a halt as the team took a lunch break.

By 1pm, the "Caterpillar" had been set up, and was now slowly snaking its way forward down the tunnel, close behind the Borer, and all the while resembling a massive steel centipede with its hundred mechanical legs. Over the next few hours, hundreds of tons of rock and debris was swiftly swept up to the surface along this conveyor belt – rock that had been dislodged by the borer itself, or by one of the HULK units, or by one of the dozens of locally-hired workmen.

Meanwhile, every two meters or so, Company™ engineers would set up steel braces to keep the tunnel from caving in. These steel beams were designed to be collapsible and compact when being transported, and then, once in place, hydraulic jacks would be used to extend the beam until it held firm and tight between the ceiling and the floor of the tunnel. Steel pegs were then inserted into slots on these beams to keep them from collapsing back into their portable form. Once this was done, the hydraulic jacks were removed and the engineers got to work on the next set of braces.

Right after them, a second team, of two engineers and a half-dozen local laborers, would install LED lights and extensions to the ventilation piping, designed to easily snap into special slots built into these steel braces. The ventilation, of course, was a veritable godsend for the men, Earth and native alike, toiling down in the tunnels, where temperatures soared thanks to the liberal application of plasma rock cutters.

Meanwhile, the surface was no less busy, as two front-loaders and an excavator trundled back and forth, removing the growing mound of rubble forming at the rear end of the Caterpillar. To maximize workplace efficiency, the entire workforce had been divided into quarters, and at any given time, three of those quarters would be toiling away while the fourth took a break. To this end, several large tents had been set up as rest stations, along with field water-refilling stations and portaloos. The native workers of Westeros had been but humble peasants and whatnot in their previous lives, used to toiling away from sun-up to sun-down with little in the way of breaks in-between, but even they were still deeply amazed, even after four months, by the ruthless machinelike speed and efficiency The Company™ operated with… well, that, as well as the hot showers, three hot meals a day, and the prospect of earning a Silver piece each day.

Daniel watched all of this from the large open-air tent that had been pitched at the site. This tent had become their field HQ, where all the communications equipment was set up, as well as a large table. A line of monitor screens set up on the table showed the live-feeds from the cameras installed on the borer and on the HULK units. Next to those monitors, a 3D-projection of the area kept track of the dig-team's progress, as well as recording ambient thaumic levels in the tunnel. And yes, the deeper and deeper they dug, the higher those levels continued to rise.

Fred remained out in the field for most of the day, coordinating the workers, but would return to the command tent every half-hour or so to communicate with the staff back at the colony, who had been left under the direct command of Chief Engineer Trevino in Fred and Daniel's absense. VENI too stayed out in the field for most of the day, although unlike Fred, she benefitted from "lacking many of the limitations of the organic form." She was still out in the field when Fred and Daniel got a call from someone expecting an update…

"I can't say I'm entirely pleased with this little diversion you're making," spoke the frowning holographic face of Director Jonathan Teller, over at their Beautiful Horizon colony on Planet EE-L5. The burden of directing that colony over these last few months were really starting to show, both in the way he looked and behaved. He continued: "could it not have waited? We have quotas to meet, you know."

"I understand your concerns, sir," replied Fred, "but don't worry, Daniel and I are on top of everything. We're well ahead of schedule and on-budget on everything else, so we can definitely afford to expend the resources for this dig. In any case, whatever we find here could be important to the future of our entire operation in this sector – might even help us understand the local climatological anomalies. Even if that's not the case, we still do have a vested safety and security interest in finding out why there would be a major 'magic source' so close to our colony."

"Fine, but just make sure you're careful, okay?" replied Teller, flatly. "If you find something worthwhile, then I'll release that extra funding and materiel you've been requesting. If not, well, then it's all on you guys' shoulders."

"VENI supports us on this," said Daniel, "and we can trust her judgment; she gets her directives straight from the board back on Earth."

"Look, I'm sure she's a swell gal and everything," replied Teller, "but she and her siblings are still just machines. She's not programmed to think outside of her established mission perimeters, and if she encounters an outside-context situation, she's supposed to defer to your judgment. I'm glad you guys seem to have taken to heeding her advice more closely these days, but remember: VENI's an advisor, and not an excuse to wash your hands clean of any responsibility. Are you still an effective team?"

"One hundred and one percent, sir," replied Fred and Daniel in unison, but reluctantly.

"Good. I look forward to seeing your report. Over and out."

By 3pm, the Badger Road-cutting vehicle had arrived after cutting a swath through the forests and hills to reach the site (it certainly helped that the first 5 miles of this new road had already been built last week in anticipation of expanding the quarry in this direction). In any case, the new road was an encouraging sight, as it meant that the trucks and could now move between the site and the colony with greater speed and frequency.

By 4pm, work suddenly stopped.

"Sir!" said Kelly, excitedly, as she entered the command tent, where Fred and Daniel were going over the budget with VENI. "We've breached the last few meters of the tunnel! However, we've discovered something very… um… well, you'd best just come check it out for yourself."

"Okay," said Daniel, "but why can't you just tell us, you know, right here, right now? After all we've been through and seen, we're just about prepared to take your word at face value. There's no need to keep it a surprise."

"Good point," she replied. "Alright, what we've found is…"

* * *

_**Footnotes:**_

_1\. The Ancient Romans routinely dug tunnels through solid rock, while the Egyptians built the Pyramids and dug out the tombs of the Valley Of The Kings. Excavating a massive underground complex like the one described above is an impressive but by no means impossible architectural feat, especially to a race that possesses magic and may or may not have been the same ones who built the Wall._

_2\. We've already seen some of the machines used by The Company™, like the HULK mechs, the Kodiak Trucks, and the Badger road-cutter. In this chapter, we are introduced to two new machines in The Company™'s arsenal: the __TC-34 Tunnel Borer (a cylindrical boring device similar to a tunnel boring machine, but much, much smaller and more portable); and the "Caterpillar" Portable Conveyor Belt (a portable conveyor belt that follows the Borer and whisks away the debris left by the Borer's boring). The Company™ has some much larger equipment back at the main quarry, but that wasn't brought along today (for logistics reasons: try trucking something that large out 12 miles over rough roads, and even the Falcons have limited transport capacity). __On the more low-tech side, another machine featured here are the "collapsible steel braces" used by the engineers to help prop up the tunnel roof._

_3\. While discussing Star Wars with Fred, Niall Donnelly refers to Emperor Palpatine as "the Emprah", which is an epithet more popularly associated with the Emperor of Mankind from 40k – this is because I thought "Emprah" would be "Emperor" rendered in a Scottish accent._


	62. Jon 5

**Jon (V)**

The wind howled and the snow swirled about, yet Jon felt oddly at ease amidst the bitter cold lashing at his exposed face and trying to worm its way in through his thick fatigues. He was of the North, and he would grin and endure it. He looked around. _Wait, hang on, where the hell was he?_ He could not remember how he had gotten here, to this empty spot in the middle of nowhere, standing in snow up to his waist, the land all about him dead and grey and hidden beneath the snow and mist. Was it day or night? And where were the others? Grenn and Pyp and Halder and Hullen and Sergeant Hawthorne too?

And then he turned around and saw it: a massive shape above him, hundreds of feet high and stretching on forever in either direction. _The Wall_, he thought._Yes, of course, the Wall! What else could it be?_

Jon felt himself begin to rise, like a bird taking flight, slowly but surely following the contours of the Wall as he as ascended. He could see shapes on the Wall – bright red lettering painted onto the ice, each twenty-feet tall, spelling out entire words and phrases. Jon tried to read them, but found he could not – it was written not in the Common Tongue, but in runes, in the glyphs and symbols of the Old Tongue. He could not read them for all his life was worth. But he could see that each letter was written in blood – _fresh blood_, that had not had the time to freeze, slowly running down the sides of the Wall in little rivulets.

"The blood of the First Men flows through my veins," spoke a voice from somewhere. Jon was startled, and looked around him, but could find no speaker. Had it been he himself who had spoken those words?

As he continued to rise, the snow and mists suddenly gave way. The air was calm and silent, save for a small flock of black shapes, circling the air above him, calling out to one another. _Ravens_ \- or at least he thought they were ravens. They could also have been bats. Or dragons. Or butterflies. Or something else entirely. Whatever they were, the sky above them had begun to darken, but there was still light – a beautiful aurora that danced and flickered across the sky, just beyond the Wall…

And then he ascended the last few yards left to peer over the Wall and see what was there, and all the while the not-ravens continued to circle and caw together: "Snow! Snow! Snow! SNOW!"

"_Snow!_" growled the voice of Sergeant Hawthorne, snapping Jon back to his senses. "Something wrong, corporal?"

Jon snapped to attention and saluted the Sarge, and then looked around him. He and his squaddies were marching single-file down a long, dark, tunnel… well, actually, they _had_ been marching, but had now come to a halt – everyone in his unit was now staring at him with looks of bewilderment on their faces. Evidently, whatever he had just done had even gotten the attention of the Sarge and his Marines, who had been marching ahead of the Wolves.

"Is something wrong, corporal?" growled the Sergeant a second time.

"Uh… Sir!" stammered Jon in response to Hawthorne's command, "no sir!"

"You sure looked like you phased out for a sec," chided Private Billings.

"I… I drifted off, Sir," said Jon, "I'm sorry, Sir, it won't happen again… Sir!"

The Sergeant glared at Jon for a second, knowing something else was afoot, but decided it was not worth pursuing right now. He turned around and continued forward, leading the troops to the end of the tunnel.

The tunnel was long and actually rather spacious – large enough to have driven one of the Sky-People's cars down the length of it. The excavation team had now removed most of their machinery; the only devices left in the tunnel were the glowing LED lights that hung from steel braces every ten feet, providing some small measure of light in this dark tunnel. Even after having lived at the colony for these last few months, Jon was still amazed at the speed and efficiency with which the Sky-People worked, even if it was really their devices that did the lion's share of the work – the locally-hired hands from Winterfell were there primarily to assist in the tasks that either the machines could not perform, or simply to perform the more mundane tasks to free up the machines for the harder work.

At the end of the tunnel, the men found Lord Frederick, Daniel, and Vaenya standing there, together with several others. It was then, in those last ten meters, that Jon noticed something most peculiar: the temperature had begun to fall. Nearer the surface, the tunnel was still quite warm from the incredible heat used by those machines to cut through the rock, yet here, Jon now felt like he was out and about in the middle of a winter. It was almost as if the large rock that lay in front of them exuded _cold_ in the way that a smith's forge exudes heat.

"255 degrees Kelvin, or 18 below freezing," Jon could hear one of the engineers, one by the name of Niall Donnelly, remark as he held up a device to the large rock.

"Well, I guess I was right then that we would find something _cool_," replied Fred, "I just didn't realize it would be so, you know, _literal_."

"So… that's it then?" asked Daniel.

"Yeah, this is the last rock before we breach the main chamber," said the woman named Kelly Adams.

"So why have we stopped here?" asked Daniel.

"We're debating what to do with this rock," she replied.

"What? Why? It's a rock," said Fred, "can't we just drill through it like we just did with the last 80 meters of rock?"

"We were initially planning to do just that," explained the woman next to him, one by the name of Jessica Danvers. "However, we're now worried that we might damage some of the artifacts within the chamber… well, that, and there's also this."

Jess held up the device she kept clipped onto her belt – it was one of those "magic detectors", though it looked markedly different from the ones Jon had seen them using on the Moon. She held it up to the large rock blocking their path. The device clicked. "Average Thaumic density of 134.98 Gaimans," she continued as she shown the device up for Fred and Daniel's scrutiny. "Not the most potent we've discovered, not by far, mind you – that honor would go to some of the stuff they found over on L-Zero. No, but this is definitely the most potent we've found here on EE-L4 as yet."

"So… we're worried that the, uh, 'rock magic' might damage our equipment?" asked Fred.

"Honestly, we know nothing about what exactly this 'rock magic' will do," said Niall, "but we don't want to risk it."

"You see, Mr. Kovacs," added in the one named Robin Van der Merwe, "back on EE-L0, we at least had the benefit of the Imperial Colleges: established organizations of mages and wizards schooled in the use of thaumaturgy, with knowledge spanning back over millennia. They could lend some of their knowledge and expertise to our scientists and help us figure out some of the basics of what exactly does what. Here, on L4, though, we haven't yet found anyone with a comparable level of experience. So, concerning any magic we find here, it's all based on whatever ancient texts VENI uploaded to our database, and a whole lot of guesswork too."

"Okay," said Fred, "you've made your point and I agree we shouldn't take any unnecessary risks. So then… what do you suggest we do now? We've come this far – we'd be fools to let a single rock get in our way now."

"What about those runes over there?" suggested Daniel. He held up his flashlight and shone it upon the walls of the tunnel. Sure enough, there was writing upon them. Jon blinked in disbelief – he could not read it, but he knew at once that it was exactly like the writing in his dream... or vision... or whatever it was that he had seen.

Daniel continued: "those runes look like they might have something to say about this place – they might even have the instructions for, I dunno, _magicking_ away this rock."

"That's actually a good idea," said Fred, "VENI, do you still have that translation protocol the Linguistics Dept. cooked up based on that data you pulled from the Winterfell library?"

"Affirmative, Directive Kovacs."

"How long will it take you to decrypt these runes?" asked Daniel.

"Assistant Director Zimmerman, I would be theoretically capable of decrypting these runic inscriptions almost instantaneously were it not for two primary obstacles. First of all, I have just scanned all of the available runes and have found that they are of a much older and more primitive script than that previously encountered in our research – no doubt a sign of linguistic evolution between the time that these hieroglyphs were written, and the time that our sources at Winterfell were written. It may take me a few minutes to update our translation protocols to account for this linguistic shift. The second obstacle is that the data appears to be incomplete and fragmentary: some of the runes have been damaged by centuries of weathering and erosion, while others appear to have been damaged by our own drilling equipment during the excavation of this tunnel. However, I might be able to reconstruct…" She paused.

"What is it this time, VENI?" asked Fred, slightly annoyed, "this is like the third time now you've done that."

"My apologies for the interruption, Director Kovacs, but new data has just become available. While we were speaking, I was scanning and running analyses over the substance of the monolith that currently obstructs our passage. I have concluded that this supposed rock is not a mineral after all, but actually a form of _ice_."

_What?!_ Thought Jon to himself, though a quick glance around confirmed that everyone else gathered there felt the same way.

"Uh… VENI, are you sure 'bout that?" piped up Niall, "I mean, yeah, magic and whatnot, but I just wanna make sure you're working."

"Engineer Donnelly: you are correct in that the scanners built into this platform are limited, so for a full analysis, we would need to have our laboratory staff run atomic emissions spectroscopy over a sample of this substance. However, as far as I can discern from my preliminary sensory data, I am confident in my assertion that this supposed 'rock' is composed of a crystalline substance exact in composition to _solid-state dihydrogen monoxide_ (more commonly known as 'ice' or 'frozen water' among you organics), and merely shaped by thaumic energies to give a lithic appearance to the organic eye. It is certainly sufficiently convincing that even this platform's optical sensors were initially misled."

"VENI's got a point," said Robin, "we found weirder shit over on L-Zero. This 'rock-ice' probably requires some blood magic or something to open up. Hey, Scotty, I'll bet you 10 creds that that's the case here."

"You're on!" replied Niall.

"Wait, so if it's ice… then it _melts_, right?" asked Fred, "any chance we could bring the plasma-rock cutters back down here?"

"Perhaps, but that would inadvisable," replied Vaenya, "as iterated by Engineer Donnelly and Surveyor Van der Merwe, we have never before dealt with a strongly thaumic substance native to Planet EE-L4. On Planet EE-L0, some of the more thaumically potent substances discovered by our research team would react violently or in other adverse manners upon exposure to external stimuli such as heat, sound waves, or an electrical current. We cannot determine if this substance will behave in a similarly volatile manner."

As Vaenya and Fred and all the others droned on and on for what seemed like hours, Jon suddenly felt himself drifting again. The next thing he knew, he was back at the Wall, watching the Northern lights dancing and flickering across the night skies. For a moment, visions danced in Jon's mind – the carrion birds and other, leathery-winged creatures circled the skies, calling out to one another while below them, eldritch forms slithered and crawled through the snow. And once more, the Wall began to ooze with fresh blood, as if the ancient bastion itself were bleeding…

And then, when he snapped back to reality, he knew what he had to do.

Pushing past Fred and Daniel, Jon strode up to the rock until his face almost touched it. He could feel the biting frost upon his skin, the moisture in his eyes starting to freeze and blur his vision. He held up his hands and removed his right glove.

"Jon, I told you it's cold," chided Private Tom, "there's no need to feel it for yourself."

Jon said nothing, but instead reached down for the large bowie knife he kept on his belt. It was a beautiful and elegantly crafted device, like so many others created by the Sky-People. The 8-inch blade shone brightly in the light, crafted from this "stainless steel", though rimmed with a thin sliver of black: _dragonglass_, thought Jon, or as the Sky-People called it, "obsidian" – a substance, he was told, far sharper and precise than any steel blade, yet far more brittle as well. Thus, these new blades that the White Wolves had recently been issued were made primarily of steel, and had a thin lining of "synthetic obsidian" along the edges for that extra sharpness. Jon took a moment to admire this blade…

"Snow!" remarked Fred, surprised, "Jon! What're you doing?"

_The Blood of the First Men flows through my veins…  
_  
"Finding us a way through, Lord Kovacs," replied Jon. With that, in a single motion, he slowly slid his dagger out across the palm of his right hand. It stung. _Yes, this was a sharp blade indeed_. It was only a light cut, but the blood already began to flow.

"Um… is that really necessary, Jon?" asked Daniel.

Jon, ignoring the others, held his breath, steeled himself, and placed his hand upon the slab of "rock-ice" that blocked their way. The rough and frigid surface stung like all the hells of both the Old Gods and the New. But Jon held firm. And sure enough, he could feel the ice begin to liquefy under his hand.

Jon stood back, clutching his hand. It stung like mad – it almost felt as though the blood itself had frozen in his very veins. But when he looked back at the slab, he noted with some satisfaction that it had begun _melting_ before his very eyes.

"See, I told you it would require blood magic!" laughed Robin, "now pay up, Niall! That's ten Creds you owe me! Oh, and nice one, Jon; I owe you a beer."

"Thanks, but if you'll excuse me," said Jon as he sat down and began rummaging through his backpack for the first-aid kit (you see, he hadn't quite thought this whole thing through and his hand really was starting to hurt).

"I must compliment you, Corporal Snow," added in Lady Vaenya, "like the rest of your family, you certainly have a flare for the dramatic. You are indeed the biological offspring of the Stark Family, are you not?"

"I _was_…" replied Jon, "…but the White Wolves are my family now."

"I appreciate your sense of duty and display of loyalty towards our organization's purposes in this sector," she replied, "however, the point I was attempting to clarify is whether or not your ancestry would include, among others, the organic individual referred to by a number of indigenous historical sources as 'Brandon the Builder'. Would that be the case, Corporal Snow?"

Jon nodded.

"Thank you for clarifying this information, Corporal Snow," she replied. She then turned to face the others: "I am in the process of formulating a theory as to the nature of the act that we have just witnessed. Currently, I find that one possible hypothesis is that this facility may have been the work of an organic individual who was a direct genetic ancestor of Corporal Snow, and that this obstacle is a security mechanism similar in principle to a DNA-scanner. As a direct descendant of 'Brandon the Builder' by lineage of the Stark family, Corporal Snow would possess the requisite genes for 'accessing' this facility."

"Hang on," interrupted Robin Van der Merwe, confused, "8,000 years (or however long ago this fellow lived) is a lot of time. Wouldn't the guy's genes get... _diluted_ over successive generations of Starks?"

"That would be correct under normal circumstances," replied Vaenya, "however (and setting aside my theory that some of this world's historical events may have transpired much more recently than otherwise suggested in the local folklore), we must bear in mind that the feudal socio-economic structure of traditional Westerosi society results in an oligarchic class that is notoriously insular and prone to intermarriage – aristocratic families and their direct progeny, such as Corporal Snow, a first-degree genetic relative of Director E. Stark, would present the best possible candidates for the possession of a DNA sample that is as close to that of 'Brandon the Builder' as possible."

"Well, that's a pretty convenient coincidence then," said Fred, and turned to face Jon: "congrats. It's an honor to have you onboard, Corporal Snow." Fred then peered into the dark abyss that lay beyond. "So… what do you guys think we'll find in there? The Ark of the Covenant? The Temple of Doom?"

"As long as it isn't the Crystal Skull," remarked Niall, half in jest.

"Alright troopers," barked the Sergeant, "Snow, you'll take point – this facility seems to respond more positively to your presence. Rodriguez! Billings! I want you two going next – you'll escort the first group. Blaskowitz and I will take the second group through. Hullen! Your team will be our rearguard. Oh, and bundle up everyone – wouldn't want anyone catching a cold."

"Sir, yes sir!" replied everyone.

When Jon had finished dressing his hand in a clean cotton gauze and a quick application of medi-gel, he and the rest of the White Wolves pulled out their flashlights and attached them to slots on their rifles. The Marines, meanwhile, activated their "night vision" that was built into their helmets – the Wolves did not have the fortune of sharing such nice equipment, at least not yet. Maybe in a few years…

When everyone was ready, the Sergeant gave the order and Jon entered the dark chamber first, with Grenn, Pypar, and Halder at his side, all with rifles drawn. After them came Private Rodriguez and that immense "Avenger Squad Automatic Weapon" of hers, and Private Billings, and behind them came Fred, Daniel, and Venya.

The inside of the chamber was surprisingly large and spacious – it could very well have been the main dining hall of a minor lord's keep… well, were it not so cold and so dark. Jon and his unit fanned out, combing the area for any threats. The LED light attached to the barrel of Jon's rifle would have provided a comforting glow against the blackness, were it not for the grisly images that greeted his eyes as it lit up the floor and everything upon it. He looked around – the flashlights carried by the other troopers lit up enough of the chamber for Jon to now regret having signed on for this mission.

"My god…" gasped Kelly.

"Fascinating," spoke Vaenya.

"Bloody 'ell," remarked the Sergeant, "it's a bleedin' massacre!"

Sure enough, laying strewn about the chamber, twisted and contorted in various horrible ways… lay dozens and dozens of bodies – bodies of men, of women, even of little children. The worst part was that thanks to this place's cold temperatures, most of them had been preserved – they still looked as if they had just died just yesterday, many with looks of horror and fear still frozen into their faces after thousands of years.

But the most frightening and bizarre thing the team found that day was not the mass of bodies piled up in the central chamber.

The survey team had said earlier that branching out from the large central chamber were seven smaller ones. Jon and his unit now entered the first of these smaller doorways, on their immediate left. He could hear his heart pounding, a shiver running down his spine.

This chamber, while smaller than the central atrium, was nonetheless at least as large as a lord's personal bedchamber. At the center of the room lay a large… slab of some kind. Was it rock? Or was it enchanted ice, as with the slab that had covered the entrance? Whatever it was mattered not – what mattered was the… the... _thing_ that lay atop it.

Jon held his breath. He stepped quietly and respectfully around the dead bodies that surrounded the central slab, like ghoulish worshippers prostrated around an altar. He then shone a light upon the object and stared.

It was a body. But it was a body unlike anything Jon had ever seen or heard of before, except for only the darkest tales from his childhood. The body, you see, was like that of a naked and youthful woman, who looked no more than twenty, laying down on her back, peacefully, in stark contrast to the mangled and contorted forms that surrounded her. Her skin was a ghostly pale white, and her hair seemed to shine like silver. And when one got close to it, one could feel the cold emanating from her skin – a terrible cold that seemed to drain both heat and life around her.

"Director Kovacs, Assistant Director Zimmerman," began Vaenya – unlike the others, she was the only one whose voice was not tainted by fear, "I cannot verify with 100% certainty the identity of this pseudo-organic life-form, such are the limitations of the available knowledge in our current database. However, there is a high probability that said individual is a member of the humanoid species recently designated _Cryohomo albus ambulator_ – more commonly known in the local dialect as an 'Other' (with capitalized letter 'O') or 'White Walker'."

_Oh… shit!,_ thought Jon.

"Uh… okay…" remarked Daniel, nervously, "…so… if that's a 'White Walker'… that's not really how I expected them to, uh, look like."

"If I may pose an inquiry, Assistant Director Zimmerman, what exactly were you expecting?" asked Vaenya, "an old white man with a beard?"

"Very funny, VENI," replied Daniel.

"I don't suppose that… uh…" began Fred, staring at the unnatural form that lay upon the altar, "…that… she's... it's _still alive_, is it?"

"A good question," replied Vaenya, fearlessly, "based on the excellent state of preservation and the thaumic activity we are detecting, there is a high probability (though not absolute certainty) that this specimen is merely in a state of extended dormancy rather than total non-functionality. In short: yes, Director Kovacs, this specimen could very well still be alive."

* * *

_**Footnotes:**_

_"Cryohomo albus ambulator" is a mix of Greek and Latin words that means "cold human, white walker"._


	63. The Sergeant 2

**Outpost B  
Approx. 12 miles NE of Autumn's Frontier Main Colony  
Northern Sector aka "The North"  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4**

Even by nightfall, the dig-site – now officially designated "Outpost B" – was still a flurry of activity. Several bright LED floodlights mounted on gantries 20 feet tall had been set up, bathing the area in a white glow. Most of the workers and site foremen had retired for the evening and had been trucked off back to the main colony. But a dozen or so of the native laborers and a few of the Terran workers would remain here overnight – as would Sergeant Nathan Hawthorne of the United Nations Colonial Marine Corps.

Hawthorne and the Marines and Wolves under his command were to manage security here at least until the automated turret defenses could be installed, which would probably be by the next day. In the mean time, he figured, this little "camping trip" made for a nice change of scenery from the barracks and the quarry – out here in the hills and forests, and the weather tonight promised to be decent as well.

Indeed, the dig-site had grown from only a clearing in the woods that very morning, to now a sprawling complex of prefabs and tents, all brought in by truck from the main colony. It almost looked like what Autumn's Frontier itself had once looked like, back in those early days of the colony – hard to believe it had only been but four months ago.

And all of this was being made in the name of what was already being called the most significant scientific discovery on Planet EE-L4: four bodies, two "males" and two "females", all in an excellent state of preservation. The tomb actually had seven chambers in total branching out from the main central atrium, but three of them were found to be empty – no one knew why, though VENI theorized that the three missing bodies may have belonged to individuals killed before the whole place was finally sealed up for good.

After the initial shock of that afternoon had worn off, Mr. Kovacs and Zimmerman were actually delighted beyond belief by the magnitude of this find. Mr. Teller too was pleased by the news, and had approved the budget and resources for the construction of this entire research outpost for the sole purpose of studying both these mysterious Cryohumans, as well as the ancient underground facility that had served as their final resting place for millennia. Who were these beings? What happened to the three missing individuals? And what exactly was this tomb that held them? Was it a prison built by the First Men, for capturing and holding a most dangerous enemy? Or perhaps a place-of-worship, where ancient cults gathered to worship these beings as gods? And were there other places like this spread throughout the continent? Getting to the bottom of these questions and so many more was the stated purpose of this new research base.

Of course, in the best interests of both safety and secrecy, Fred and Daniel had decided to keep the specimens here, rather than back at the main colony. Word about this find was sure to spread throughout the North the next time one of their workers went back to Winter Town on a furlough. Some of the more superstitious locals might not have taken too kindly to the news, and Lord Robb too would inevitably take an interest in the find, if for no other reason than to at least ensure these beings posed no threat to his fledgling nation-state. But for whatever it was worth, keeping the bodies out here was deemed the best course of action for keeping most of the prying eyes away from the find.

By late afternoon, several prefabricated units had arrived by truck from the main colony, including five that were placed together to form the central field laboratory and storage facility, another unit that served as the field kitchen, and a couple of hab-units where The Company™ staff were to be accommodated. Everyone else, local laborers and military grunts alike, were to be put up in tents for tonight – no problem, this is what Marines trained for, and in any case, it was a pretty mild and pleasant evening with even the full moon out tonight… a rarity here in the North, as the Sarge had discovered after four months on this posting.

For now, things had quietened down somewhat after the initial discovery that afternoon. Truth be told, Hawthorne himself hadn't known what to expect. Even though he'd received regular reports from Lt. Archer about the new threats and exotic enemies the troops on L0 and L5 had to contend with on a regular basis, those couldn't quite prepare one for finally facing a thaumomorph in the flesh. It was a (literally) chilling experience, to stand there, gazing at the bodies where they lay; each almost exactly human in appearance, save for the ghostly white skin, and the shiny crystalline hair, and the unnatural grace and beauty. It almost reminded him of the reports he'd seen on those so-called 'Dark Elves' (or '_Nympha naggarothensis_' as the eggheads called them) over on Big Zero: lithe and elegant in form, but deadly and vile in purpose.

And if that hadn't been enough, even a tried and trained trooper like he couldn't help but feel some unnerve at the sight of all those mangled and twisted human remains down in that pit, still fresh after thousands of years, preserved by whatever eldritch energies sustained their masters. The sight of it all took him back to his last combat deployment, years ago: that awful massacre by the insurgents, the dead piled up like meat for the slaughter, men and women and innocent children alike, the flies and maggots squirming about …

Whatever the case, three of those so-called 'White Walkers' (designated Specimens WW01, WW02, and WW03) had now been exhumed and brought up to the surface and now lay locked up at the lab, restrained and closely guarded. Fred and Daniel took no chances, and had hastily ordered the fabrication of special steel shackles with an inner lining of obsidian. Whether they really were dead or just dormant, having one wake up and escape (or worse, try to kill everyone) was deemed an unnecessary complication. The fourth one, Specimen WW04, was still down below in the tomb, and the team was planning to go recover this final creature after dinner.

For now, Sgt. Nathan Hawthorne and his troops could be found gathered around the campfire, tucking into their most delicious and sumptuous (not) MRE field rations, and trading banter with some of the workers, both native and Terran. They were quite the colorful bunch: there were the Surveyors, like Jess, Kam, and Robin. Another one of the Terran workers, a loud and rather portly Scouser by the name of Albert Digby, was currently entertaining the local Westerosi laborers with stories from Earth, about such joys and wonders as traditional British food, and the second _and last_ time England ever won a World Cup … even though it happened long before he was even born. Digby was one of the two HULK unit operators assigned to this dig-site; the other, Hank Hogan, had already returned back to the main compound since most of the heavy lifting was done.

"Where's Fred and VENI?" asked Daniel as he approached the group gathered 'round the campfire, "have any of you guys seen them anywhere? He left his comlink at the lab."

"Back down in the Temple of Doom," replied Pvt. Vincenzo Manfredi, casually, "finishing their research or something – probably a good excuse for the two of them to be left alone while they make _bunga bunga_."

"What? Excuse me?" shot Daniel.

"_Ma dai!_ I was joking, _signore!_" laughed Manfredi, "though you must admit, for a machine, she has quite the _bella figura_. I wonder if she also has _una fi_…"

"Ey, _pendejo!_" snapped Rodriguez, "if _you_ wanna try her out, be my guest, but I'm not gonna be the one wiping up what's left of you off the floor!"

"Alright, that's enough, you two!" barked Hawthorne, sternly. "My apologies, Mr. Zimmerman, go on."

"Okay…" replied Daniel, "…well, once dinner is over, we'll all head back down and retrieve Specimen WW04, and once she's in storage with the others, we'll lock up for the night. I…" He paused and shivered.

"What's wrong?" asked the Sarge.

"Oh, just a slight chilly breeze, that's all," said Daniel. He glanced at his watch, "it's nearly 10pm and we've all been up since 6 this morning."

"You mean to say _you've_ been up since 6," chided Pvt. Billings, but Daniel ignored him.

The wind started to pick up again, and this time, Hawthorne felt it too – a chilly breeze was normal here in the North, but this one just felt like an Arctic blast.

"That's bizarre," observed Daniel, taking notice of a large cloud that was gathering in the distance, glowing silver under the light of the full moon… "satellite forecast said we're supposed to have a clear and mild night tonight."

Sergeant Hawthorne abruptly dropped his dinner. He was no meteorologist, but he knew straight away that something was very wrong.

"Pull up the real-time satellite feeds," he commanded. Daniel was confused but obeyed all the same. He held up his holo-tablet and keyed in the instructions. Sure enough, the weather radar showed low-altitude clouds gathering a couple miles east of their position – _a mist_. And they had all formed within the last half-hour… and they were all moving against local wind currents as well, slowly converging on Outpost B…

_Oh, that's not good_, thought Hawthorne. "Ms. Danvers!" he commanded, "this morning, your Survey Team employed a recon drone equipped with a newly-installed magic detector. Do you still have it here with you?"

Jessica Danvers looked taken aback at first, but then it occurred to her just what Hawthorne needed of her. "Yes, it's here," she replied, "If you think that freak weather is being caused by magic, it'll take us a couple minutes to set it up."

Within a few minutes, the little aerial vehicle, no larger than a coffee table but packed with all manner of instruments, had been taken out of its storage container, powered up, and then sent off on its way, flying towards the gathering clouds. Hawthorne and all the others then gathered around Jess's holo-tablet, which displayed the latest feeds being transmitted by the drone.

"Shit, thaumic readings at just over 500 MilliPratchetts and climbing," gasped Jess, "and we aren't even in the eye of it yet."

Billings instinctively stole a glance at the lab facility… where the recovered Specimens were being held. "You don't think it's _their friends_, do you?" he asked.

"I don't know... I…" stammered Jess. The fear in her voice was evident. "I… wait, we have a visual!"

Sure enough, through the mists and gusts of icy wind, the little battery-powered drone plowed bravely on, its night vision sensors and radar peering through the clouds, and reconstructing a holographic representation of just what lay beneath it…

_Bloody fucking 'ell_, thought the Sergeant. The gasps and shudders he heard around him confirmed that he wasn't just seeing things.

"What the fuck?!" spat Billings, "what is this, freakin' _Army Of Darkness_?"

The sight that greeted everyone's eyes could certainly very well have crawled right out of a b-holomovie. Shambling, slithering, crawling, shuffling, and in every imaginable manner _moving_ through the forests were dozens of human bodies – human bodies in every possible state of decay and decomposition. Some looked like the ones down in the tomb, as if they had only died just yesterday, and in every conceivable manner: some seemed to have had their eyes gouged out, others were missing entire limbs, and still others walked with gaping holes in their bellies, black entrails and all hanging out and dragging along the ground. Still others among them looked like pictures he had once seen of ancient mummies – flesh and skin intact, yes, but dried and shriveled up like shrink-wrapping around the bones. And still others looked almost completely skeletal, whatever little flesh they had left clung to their bare bones like rags – only pure magic, he reasoned, could have been providing the muscle power needed to keep those bodies moving as they did.

Months ago, Hawthorne had read the report that VENI had compiled on "hostile native fauna of EE-L4" using data pulled from Winterfell's library, and though exact details now escaped him, he nonetheless knew straight away what he was looking at: _Wights_ – the human dead raised by the White Walkers as servants. _Shit_, he realized, _they must be here looking for their masters_.

"What do we do now, Sarge?" asked Daniel, visibly shaken but struggling to remain calm as The Company™ workers around him undoubtedly looked to him for guidance. "Is there any chance these… things could be non-hostiles? I mean, yeah, I know they look like the extras of a George Romero movie… but that doesn't necessarily mean they're, uh, _evil_, does it?"

"I dunno, but when something looks like _that_, I'm pretty sure those _cabrones_ ain't here to make nice!" piped up Rodriguez.

"Mr. Zimmerman has a point," replied Hawthorne, "there's a chance, however small, that they're not hostile, and if we can avoid starting a war on this planet too, that'd be for the best." _Unlikely_, his gut feeling told him, _but we have to consider all possibilities here_. Of course, even if that were the case, how would they find out? "We'll give them a warning, a chance to stand down; fire off some shots, maybe blast the klaxon at them too. If they're… sentient at all, they'll take the hint and scram, but if not, then we destroy them … the old fashioned way."

"But Sarge! How do we know if bullets can even hurt 'em?" cried one of the Wolves, Private Pypar.

"Dropped your balls already, have we?" retorted Hawthorne, "grow a new pair! Our fighting brothers and sisters over on El-Zero face far worse than this; we'd be doing their name a disservice to let these creatures get the better of us." He made sure everyone was listening before continuing, "So this is what we're going to do: we're going to make our stand here. Remember: these aren't 'White Walkers', but a subservient race, the so-called 'Wights' – they're basically zombies, except that destroying the brain will only slow them down, and even a severed limb can still move by itself. No, they'll need to be blown to smithereens, or set alight. Use explosives and incendiaries whenever possible, but conserve ammunition as best you can – it looks like there's a shitlot of 'em. Snow! Hullen! I'll need your squads guarding our flanks while we hold the center of the line. Consider this the White Wolves' baptism by fire."

"Sir, yes sir!" shouted Corporals Snow and Hullen in unison; Hawthorne was pleased to see that the fear in their eyes started to give way to stolid resolve and grim determination as months of training and conditioning began to take effect. Snow then turned to face the rest of the Wolves and shouted: "White Wolves!" to which the rest of the militiamen, scared as they were, rallied with a collective group cry of "WHITE WOLVES!" in response.

Hawthorne next turned to face Jess: "Ms. Danvers, we'll be in need of your expertise to provide reconnaissance. Stay with me at all times, and keep that drone flying; report to me every new development immediately." Jess nodded.

Hawthorne then turned to address the rest of The Company™'s staff, both the Terrans and the natives: "the rest of you! Well, you can see why we made self-defense training mandatory for all of you. I s'pose now is the time to see if any of it has rubbed off. If you don't have a gun, then pick up whatever you can: digging tools, welding torches … anything's better than none."

The civilian workers still all looked ready to shit their pants (and some may already have), and honestly who could blame them? They weren't trained soldiers like he was. Yes, 'tis true that each of the Terran workers had at least each been issued a Colt and three weeks of mandatory self-defense training, and the local Westerosi peasants came from a wild and inherently violent society, so at least some of them must have had some experience using farmtools or simple bows in self defense. But the thing was that all of that had been with human enemies in mind, and the situation that now faced them was for many a completely outside-context problem.

So Hawthorne decided to try and instill some steel into their spines: "I know you're all scared! But listen to me: whatever comes through these woods, we stand a better chance of survival if we all work together. Do you understand me? We stay together, we survive."

When he was done giving orders, he then immediately radioed back to the main colony for backup. Private Khedira, their communications specialist, answered. Hawthorne, as quickly but calmly as possible, explained what was going on and ordered that the two Star Fleet pilots at the colony, Lieutenants McConaughey and Conran, be awakened and come at once. Unfortunately, though, he also knew that the Falcons would each take at least 20 minutes to refuel, load up, and prep for dust-off… the question was now whether they would survive those next 20 harrowing minutes, now that the mist was already starting to fall over Outpost B…

By the time Hawthorne had finished calling back to base, the troops were already all assembled at the outpost's perimeter and geared up. The Wolves were all equipped with Martini-Henries, save for the two corporals, Snow and Hullen, who each carried a Short Magazine Lee-Enfield Mk III. Joining the group were a few of the civvies, all armed with personal defense sidearms – they weren't trained soldiers, but every extra gun they could put on the frontline was welcome.

Privates Blaskowitz and Billings, like the Sarge himself, were each carrying an AR27 "Stacker" Assault Rifle, with under-attached 25mm pump-action grenade launcher. Private Manfredi, by contrast, carried a "Kruger" Designated Marksman Rifle (DMR), and a second back-up weapon attached to the magnetic clamp on his backpack.

And then there was Private Rodriguez, and that massive M250 "Avenger" Squad Automatic Weapon (SAW) that rested on the end of a gyro-stabilized armature attached directly to the thick harness she wore around her waist (and thus bore most of the gun's 12kg weight). The SAW used the same 7.62x51mm UNCDF Standard Rounds as the Stacker Assault Rifles, although with a far higher rate-of-fire, of up to 1,500rpm. Not surprisingly, the recoil would have made the Avenger a real bitch and a half to keep under control, though fortunately, most of this force would be borne by the dampeners built into the harness. About 700 rounds for this weapon were stored in Rodriguez's backpack, which were fed into the gun itself via belt.

Everyone was as ready as they would be, and not a moment too soon, for Outpost B was now completely enveloped in the mist, and the temperatures had plunged to below freezing. This wasn't a problem for the Marines: their Mk-7 Ballistics Armor and fatigues were insulated against the temperature, and they all had motion-trackers and both thermal and ultrasound imaging wired in to their helmet visors. But the Wolves and the civvies did not share in the Marines' toys, and even with the bright LED floodlights jacked up to full power, visibility did not extend very far from the perimeter, and dark shapes of the trees in the distance would have obscured any enemy until they were practically at the gates.

Hawthorne surveyed the scene from his position – the HUD on his visor began tracking and highlighting several shapes moving through the trees … and, within seconds, several dozen more shapes moving right behind them. _Crikey 'ell_, he thought, _there must be hundreds of 'em... no, stop thinking about that. Must remain calm_. Hawthorne clicked on his comlink, made sure it was connected wirelessly to the outpost's PA system, and spoke. At once, his voice boomed out across the entire compound from several loudspeakers.

"ATTENTION!" he began, "you are illegally encroaching on territory under the protection of the United Nations Colonial Defense Force. Turn away immediately, or you will be intercepted and destroyed!"

The approaching horde paid little heed to this warning. The HUD shown that they were now 100 meters from the perimeter and closing fast …

He cleared his throat and began a second time: "Attention! You are illegally encroaching on territory under the protection of the UNCDF! Turn away now, _or you will be destroyed!_"

_90 meters and closing…  
_  
"Fire warning shots," he commanded.

**_BA-AH-ANG! BA-AH-ANG! BA-AH-ANG!_** reverberated about the compound and the surrounding hills as Pvt. Billings fired off several three-round bursts. Next to him, Pvt. Blaskowitz fired off three red flares into the sky with his grenade launcher, each in rapid succession. The brilliant scarlet bolts sailed into the sky, illuminating the area in a hellish red glow, and landing among the trees and continuing to burn fiercely. The oncoming swarm of the Undead seemed to take note and surged around the flares, avoiding the heat and light emanating from them. But still, they kept on coming.

_80 meters…  
_  
Sgt. Hawthorne activated the outpost's final line of nonlethal deterrence. The loudspeakers of the PA system, you see, were designed and produced in such a way that each had a secondary defensive function: capable of "firing" a directed, short-ranged blast of sound at certain frequencies. When Pvt. Blaskowitz's flares failed to have any appreciable effect on the walkers' morale, Hawthorne ordered everyone to take cover, and then fired off a sonic blast directed at the oncoming horde. The deep, droning, _Inception_-like **_BBBWWWAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH_** that followed was designed to shatter the eardrums of more sensitive organic life forms: if these walkers had really been just innocent civilians or mindless animals, then they would have taken the hint by now that they were not welcome and got their arses out of dodge. They didn't.

_70 meters…  
_  
_So that's the way it's gonna be then_, thought Hawthorne to himself as he took a deep breath, and then turned to face the rest of the troops: "alright, ALL FORCES, _OPEN FIRE!_"

"LET'S ROCK!" shouted Rodriguez in gleeful response. She planted her feet firmly into the ground, steeled herself for the recoil, gritted her teeth, and squeezed the trigger.


	64. The Sergeant 3

Previously on _The White Walking Dead_…

* * *

**Outpost B  
Approx. 12 miles NE of Autumn's Frontier Main Colony  
Northern Sector aka "The North"  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4**

"LET'S ROCK!" shouted Pvt. Rodriguez in gleeful response to Sgt. Hawthorne's command. She planted her feet firmly into the ground, steeled herself for the recoil, gritted her teeth, and squeezed the trigger.

**_DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA_** roared the Avenger. The huge SAW bucked about, spent shell casings flying everywhere, steam and smoke issuing forth as the heat of the barrel clashed with the freezing air around them. But Rodriguez held firm, thanks in part to the recoil dampeners built into her harness, but also thanks to all those pull-ups and push-ups and gene therapy and steroid-enhanced meals that were the mainstay of life in the Colonial Marine Corps.

**_DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA-DAKKA_** the Avenger continued to roar, lighting up the night with a brilliant cascade of tracer rounds (Rodriguez, you see, was using two-to-one tracers rather than the normal four-to-one – the Marines had heeded VENI's advice on stocking up on incendiary munitions).

Not to be outdone, the rest of the unit opened fire as well; even the volume of rapid-fire put out by the Enfields and Martinis of the White Wolves was nothing to be scoffed at. Hawthorne was pleased to see that the rigorous training regime he had subjected these former farmhands and uneducated peasant to was finally starting to pay dividends. There were so many Wights now converging on them, packed in tightly together, that it was impossible not to hit something. Blood, bone, brains, and body bits flew everywhere, covering the ground in a foul carpet that stank of thousands of years of decay staved off by magic now rushing back to collect on its dues. Had these enemies been any other ordinary human beings, the torrent of firepower pouring into them from an Avenger SAW, three Stacker ARs, a Kruger DMR, two Enfields, seven Martinis, and the several or so M1911s wielded by the civilian workers would have given them pause – might have even have put the entire horde to flight.

But these were not ordinary human beings. They did not flinch in fear, whether from the noise or the smell or the hail of fiery metal death that rained down upon them. And being undead as they were, to simply hit one with a bullet and let it bleed out was not enough – they had to be completely and bodily disintegrated, shredded, blown apart, or incinerated. These were monsters of pure hate and evil, all hell-bent on a singular purpose with no individual regard for self-preservation, and there was simply no way about it other than to destroy each and every last one of them. Yes, the bodies began to drop by the dozen, shredded apart by high-impact rounds or blown into ludicrous gibs by explosives or set alight by incendiaries… and still the horde kept coming, surging forward, simply climbing and crawling over the bodies of those felled.

And that's when Hawthorne's HUD alerted him to a new threat emerging from the trees: lumbering among the horde were several beings, larger and taller than any of the others, like humans in shape, but each easily 15ft tall. _Shit_, he thought, _so they may be giants after all_. He shouted: "Manfredi! We've got a big 'un, 1 o'clock. Bring it down!"

"I got this one, Sir!" replied the sniper. He put down his "Kruger" DMR, and instead pulled up that second gun he kept magnetically clamped to his back: a modified Holland And Holland bolt action rifle, chambered for the .700 Punisher Express. Each of these heavy 17.8x89mm rounds could pack up to 62 KJ of kinetic energy. Private Manfredi, quickly and expertly, took position, undid the safety, adjusted his aim, and fired. The **_BANG_** produced by this rifle was enough to startle even Rodriguez.

70 meters away, the 1,234.5-grain (80-gram) depleted uranium-tipped round struck the lumbering brute square in the chest at 1,245 meters/second. At this point, like a multistage rocket, the bullet split up into two separate parts: the tip of the bullet continued to sail forward with enough force to punch a hole clean through the giant's body, splintering bone and liquefying anything else in its path; it exited the giant's back with enough velocity that Hawthorne was pretty sure he saw it penetrate several Wights walking right behind it. The second part of the bullet was an incendiary component wrapped in a metal sheath designed to shatter into shards. This part remained embedded deep within the monster's chest, and exploded, sending shrapnel and flaming fuel in all directions, with enough force that anything left inside the creature's chest cavity was immediately reduced to a pulp and then set alight.

The end result was that this ugly son-of-a-bitch crumpled to the ground where it stood as its chest was consumed inside-out by flame and shards of metal – the Sarge was pretty sure he saw it crush one of the smaller Wights under its weight as it fell.

"_Vaffanculo, brutta bestia!_" shouted Manfredi, smiling, waving his hand wildly in brief celebration at the beast's demise. He then went back to work, pulling the bolt back, ejecting a spent cartridge large enough to serve a cocktail in, and loading the next 17.8mm round – there were still a couple other giants that needed felling.

But still, even with small victories like this, the rest of the horde kept on surging forward. Hawthorne cursed under his breath.

"Sarge!" called Jess, looking up from her tablet – all the while that the battle raged on, Jess had remained there, monitoring the latest data from their little drone, which was now circling the compound above them. "About a hundred 'walkers have broken off from the main group … they're trying to go around the perimeter … they're trying to take us from behind!"

_So the bastards can think after all_, thought Hawthorne. "Blaskowitz!" he shouted, "take Corporal Snow and his unit out back and cut these fuckers off. We'll continue holding the line here!"

"_Jawohl_!" shouted Blaskowitz. He and several of the Wolves got up and ran to the new position Hawthorne had indicated on his HUD. The only good thing about fighting Wights it seemed was that at least they didn't appear to use any ranged weapons, or else Snow's squad would have had to take a less exposed but less direct route.

With six less rifles on the frontline, the pressure on the remaining defenders was beginning to mount. And now the ammo was starting to run low. And still the horde kept pushing forward, getting dangerously close to the base perimeter. The only good news was that they were now close enough for …

"Grenades!" shouted the Sarge, "FIRE IN THE HOLE!"

All along the Marines' improvised defense lines, grenades were fired or lobbed into the oncoming tide, and then everyone ducked for cover as a series of explosions rocked up and down the front, opening up huge gaps in the mass of bodies as anything formerly within those gaps were blown to pieces. These were mix of frags, concussions, and a few incendiaries – the latter were by far the most effective, but the others dealt their fair share of damage as well. Mixed in with the grenades were a few oilcans from the Outpost's workshop, hastily adapted as Molotov cocktails. The mix of oil and incendiaries set the field alight in a brilliant and hellish orange glow, and dozens of Wights were seared to a crisp.

And still, the horde kept advancing.

_Where do these bastards keep coming from?_ Hawthorne clicked on his helmet comlink and spoke: "Khedira! Where is that bloody air support when we need it?!"

"Sir!" came the com-specialist's voice over the radio, "engines are still powering up, sir! We'll be dusting off in t-minus 9 minutes!"

_We may not be alive in 9 minutes_ … Hawthorne turned to the rest of his men and shouted: "alright, everyone, fall back to the central lab!" The layout of Outpost B hadn't exactly been built with defense in mind, but the prefab units at the center that served as the field lab would easily be the most secure part of the compound if they barricaded the doors. For better or worse, that was the best place to make their last stand. He clicked on his helmet-comlink: "Blaskowitz! What's your status?"

"Mein Herr!" came the reply over the radio, "we're holding, but these bastards just keep coming! We took down one of the big ones, but we're now aus of grenades, and the ammo's running dry as well."

"We're falling back to the main lab and barricading it," he yelled, "if you want to live, Private, I suggest you all get your arses over there ASAP."

"_Jawohl!_"

"Where's Fred and VENI?" said Daniel as the group made the hundred-yard dash to the lab.

"If they're not with us now, they're not our concern," retorted Hawthorne. He paused for a second. Mr. Kovacs was still down in the tomb. And there were dozens of dead bodies in the tomb as well… _no, stop thinking about that. Concentrate on keeping everyone here alive right now_.

The retreat to the outpost's central lab went about as orderly as one could imagine, given the circumstances. But everyone seemed to get there in one piece. As they approached, Hawthorne suddenly noticed something large parked next to the lab's loading dock. _Of course, one of the HULK units!_ Why had he not thought of that earlier?

"Digby!" he shouted at the portly Scouser who was currently huffing and puffing and struggling to keep pace with the Marines, "get that unit operational! See what damage you can do; I doubt these hostiles are toting anything that can get through that armor."

"Yes, guvna!" wheezed Digby, who immediately waddled off towards the parked mecha-suit.

Meanwhile, Daniel unlocked the lab doors, and then waited outside with the Sarge while everyone else shuffled in, making sure everyone who was left was accounted for. Hawthorne took this opportunity to order Jess to show him the latest feeds from the drone that was still circling the area. It seems they'd dealt a good number on the horde, but the rest were still active and still numbered possibly in the hundreds. Some appeared to be breaking off from the main bulk and were heading towards the tunnel entrance (_God only knows whatever happened to the poor sods trapped down there_), but the rest were now converging on the lab. They must really have been desperate to be reunited with their masters if they were willing to brave the fire and steel of the Colonial Marines to get at them. That's when it finally occurred to him just what exactly needed to be done.

"Mr. Zimmerman, open the vault," barked Hawthorne, coldly, "my apologies, but your precious White Walkers will have to be destroyed."

"What?" blurted Daniel, "is that necessary? Those Specimens are valuable to The Company™'s purposes here on EE-L4!"

"I wasn't asking your permission," he retorted. _The Company™ can screw itself; I take my orders from the UNCDF_… "If you really want one of them bloody Snow Queens for your private collection, you can find another one later; let's just focus on surviving the next five minutes, shall we?"

Daniel looked pained at this decision, but finally relented. "Okay… very well," he sighed, "just… make it count, Sergeant."

Hawthorne didn't reply but instead ordered everyone else to put their guns away and pull out their newly issued KA-BAR knives instead – the last thing he needed was some idiot killing everyone else by setting off a gun inside an enclosed, reinforced metal box. Once everyone was safely inside the lab and the doors were shut and bolted, Daniel strode up to the storage vault's entrance and ran his thumbprint through the scanner. At once, the heavy steel doors began to open and…

The temperature plummeted.

Several in the group gasped.

Specimens WW01, WW02, and WW03 were all in there, alright… and they were _alive and moving_.

Hawthorne blinked in disbelief. When the specimens had been brought up that evening, they were still dormant, but Fred and Daniel had ordered that they be restrained all the same with special custom-made shackles lined with obsidian, you know, just in case. Well, whether it was the full moon tonight, or just the act of physically removing them from the crypt, all three of them were now up and about, their eyes ablaze with an eerie, malevolent-looking blue glow. All three seemed to wear what appeared to be a kind of dappled green-grey, form-fitting armor that they hadn't had that afternoon, and so must have been … uh,_magicked_ out of thin air.

Two of them – WW03, a "male", and WW02, a "female" – had somehow managed to undo these restraints (though Hawthorne took note of what appeared to be pained burn-marks on their wrists), and were now gathered around WW01, trying to assist it with the shackles. When the vault doors were thrown open, all three creatures turned to gaze at their would-be captors, and snarled with a collective voice like that of cracking ice. It reminded Hawthorne vaguely of the way a cornered animal looked at its hunters. Perhaps these creatures were only acting in retaliation for their own imprisonment at the hands of The Company™, or of the First Men before them?

_No, no time to think about that_. Victim or not, they had now made themselves the enemy, and at that moment, it was a simple question of us or them. The Colonial Marine's Oath of Service demanded that no matter who was right or wrong, _humanity always comes first_. With that, instinctively, Hawthorne charged forward, his newly issued obsidian-tipped knife held high, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

The first creature in his path, Specimen WW03, held up his/its hands and summoned a huge, glowing blue blade of crystal out of nowhere. Hawthorne had no honest fucking idea whether this 'magic blade' could pierce Mk-7 Ballistics Armor or not, but he had no intention of finding out. Moving with the speed and agility imparted onto him by years of service with the Marines, he dodged the creature's first swing of the blade – he could feel the cold even through his armor and insulated fatigues – and then brought his knife plunging down into the icy white neck of Specimen WW03.

There was an icy **_crack_**, followed by a shrill, banshee-like wailing that, specially within the confines of the cramped metal prefab, made several of the men stagger backwards, their hands clutched over their ears. Frigid water and steam began to issue forth from where Hawthorne's knife had found its mark, and WW03 waved its arms and sword about wildly as its legs seemed to turn to slush. The long crystal blade struck Hawthorne across the chest, and shattered against his breastplate, whatever magic sustained it dying along with its master. Still, it struck with enough force that the Sarge fell backwards onto the floor.

Their companion's demise galvanized WW01 and WW02 into action. WW01, the other "male", was still chained to the table, but it began thrashing about wildly and pulling at its chains and screaming in what must have been frustration. WW02, meanwhile, one of the "females", hissed and snarled at the men with a voice that sounded like the howling of a storm. And then, with little regard for its own safety and self preservation, it charged forward, crystal sword held high, enraged by what Hawthorn supposed was the death of its…_husband?_ Soulmate? Whatever passed for love amongst these creatures, that must have been what WW03 had been to it.

Private Pypar was the first one in its path. He bravely held up his knife and managed to block the blow; enchanted crystal clashed against obsidian-and-steel, sending blue sparks flying everywhere. Private Grenn tried to come up behind it, but WW02 sensed this and spun around on the spot and planted a frozen kick right to Grenn's nether-regions. It was like a raging bear, surrounded on all sides by wolves closing in for the kill. But being surrounded was exactly when a trapped beast is at its most deadly, as Pyp found out a second later when WW02 found an opening in his defense, and ran its blade right through his neck.

"PYP!" cried several of the Wolves in unison.

Too late: he was almost certainly killed instantly. But as he fell, in a last act of either desperation or defiance or perhaps because his arm had simply not registered that the rest of the body was dead, Pyp reached out and slashed the creature's sword arm – only a light cut, but enough to cause her/it incredible pain, judging from the horrible scream that followed. Corporal Hullen only needed a split second's distraction to charge it face-to-face and drive his knife in the Walker's own throat.

"That's for Pyp, YOU CUNT!" cried Hullen, so loud he could almost be heard over the creature's deranged screaming. Privates Grenn and Halder too rushed forward to take their anger out on the white bitch, furiously stabbing at her wildly again and again even as it melted into slush before their very eyes.

_Two down, one to go_. Whilst all of this had transpired, however, WW01 had managed to pull itself free from its shackles; its wrists were still steaming profusely and partially melted from where its skin had rubbed against the obsidian lining. Unlike its counterparts, WW01 seemed to realize that the odds were stacked against it – here, within this small and compact space, surrounded by a couple dozen angry humans wielding obsidian-lined knives. And so it didn't even try to fight; instead, WW01 made a mad dash for the window.

"STOP HIM!" shouted Hawthorne, though that was far easier said than done. The inside of the lab was tight and compact with almost thirty people crammed in, but WW01 moved with a grace and finesse that was unearthly and yet beautiful to behold, almost dancing and leaping and sailing through the air, dodging every slash or stab; at least several people were injured in the ensuing mad rush and clusterfuck, and Hawthorne wasn't sure how many were actually hurt by the fugitive beast, and how many had just stabbed one another by accident.

The window shattered into shards as WW01 dove through it, somersaulted through the air, and landed on the ground on its hindlegs. The earth beneath its feet seemed to immediately frost over. For a second, the creature just stood there, as if taking in the light of the full moon and drawing power from it.

Hawthorne rushed to the window after it, pulled out his service pistol, and fired off three shots. Two rounds missed; the third struck WW01 in the small of its back. These rounds were incendiaries, and WW01 growled in pain like the rumbling of a distant avalanche. But it did not die. Even with its back badly burnt, it simply turned around, and with a wave of its arm, conjured up several icicles out of the air and sent them flying back at the window. These icicles shattered ineffectively against steel, but were still sharp enough to cause one of the workers to cry out in pain when one of them struck his left arm, drawing blood.

The troops inside the lab reached for their guns, but WW01 had already fled, darting to the side and out of their line of sight, seeming to glide gracefully along the ground in spite of the burns on its back. "Fucker's getting away!" exclaimed Billings, "if he meets up with the rest…" Sure enough, as Hawthorne leaned out of the window, he could see the mass of Wights swarming through the compound, converging on WW01's location…

Just then, a shadow fell over the creature.

**_"HHHEEERRREEE'S DIGBY!"_** came the jovial voice of Albert Digby over the loudspeakers.

A massive steel fist the size of a tire came out of nowhere and collided with the torso of Specimen WW01, throwing it onto the ground. That fist was the left hand of a HULK unit; the right hand currently had something else bolted onto it: a plasma-rock-cutter, one of several used earlier that day to excavate the tunnel. Quick as the winds of winter, WW01 was back on its feet, but Digby was already upon it, held his right arm forward, and fired.

For the purposes of mining and tunneling, plasma-rock-cutters like the ones manufactured by The Company™ were designed to produce ion streams of up to 28,000° Celsius (50,000° Fahrenheit). Granted, this stream tended to dissipate quickly, and the magnetic projectors needed to keep the plasma in a single discreet "bullet" over long distances was another matter entirely. This was the main reason why plasma weapons were generally shunned by military heads as being too short-ranged, too expensive, too bulky, too dangerous to the user, and all-around impractical for anything other than as (short-ranged) cutting tools, though at least within this capacity, in both military and civilian settings like industry and mining, plasma-cutters had become completely indispensable to the 22nd century economy.

Well, Specimen WW01 now learned the hard way as to why a plasma-operator had to wear such protective clothing even when the cutter was pointed away from him or her. Hawthorne and the other Marines' helmet visors automatically darkened, but everyone else had to look away from the window and cover their eyes, such was the intensity of the heat and light generated. There was no screaming or wailing this time, and all had to wonder if the creature was instantly vaporized before it even knew what had hit it. As dangerous (and perhaps omnicidal too) as the White Walkers were, Hawthorne found himself hoping that it had at least earned a quick death – indeed, all that was left of it was a spot on the ground where the very rock upon which it stood was still glowing red hot.

"Bloody 'ell, they're still comin'!" exclaimed Digby over the HULK unit's loudspeakers, "well, I've plasma-a-plenty for the lot o' ya! COME N' GET SOME!" He unleashed another torrent of ions hotter than the surface of the Sun in the direction of the oncoming tide of Wights, roasting a dozen of them alive…

And then, a bright lance of light appeared from the sky and struck the ground a hundred meters away. All the Wights in the immediate vicinity of it burst into flame, such was the intensity of the heat generated by the beam's impact. The sound was followed shortly thereafter by the droning of a turbojet engine high above them…

"YEE-HAAAAH!" yelled a familiar voice over the Sarge's radio, "cavalry's-a-comin'!" It was the voice of Lt. McConaughey.

Falcon 03 roared as it swept low over the outpost, firing its pulse laser at everything that moved that didn't have an IFF tag (as all Marines and workers were required to wear). At that moment, Hawthorne fell to his knees. He was not the particularly religious type, but right now, he saw an angel… two, in fact: as Falcon 03 circled overhead for another pass, Falcon 04, piloted by Lt. Conran, arrived on the scene, hovering low over the compound. The side-doors and rear ramp were thrown open, and several figures emerged, rappelling down cables to the ground.

"Hope you still left some fuckers for us to kill," said Private Elway over the radio, "by the way, don't mind the Wolf-pups if they're a little sloppy with the landing – this is their first time fast-roping."

The Battle Of Outpost B was now over… at least on the surface. But Hawthorne knew that they weren't out of the woods yet. Once all the reinforcements were on the ground, fresh ammunition distributed, the injured attended to, and flamethrowers handed out to some of the troops, the Sarge gave orders to Corporals Snow and Hullen and the others to sweep up any remaining resistance on the surface, and then gathered his Marines and plunged headfirst down the tunnel, dreading to imagine just what they would find down below…

* * *

_**Footnotes:**_

_1\. The depiction of WWs in this scene - their movement, their language, their clothing and choice of weaponry - is inspired primarily from the Prologue of AGOT, and from Sam's chapter in ASOS, as well as a few other original ideas (summoning icicles out of the air to use as shuriken, drawing power from the full moon, and having some equivalent of "marriage" within their society). The fact that a WW was killed by Samwell Tarly of all people(!) shows that the WWs are not as infallible or invincible as many seem to think they are. _

_2\. In this universe, "magic" is a form of energy, and thus __directed energy weapons__ would be somewhat effective against "magic" targets.__ Today, in 2015, we have plasma arc welding torches that are capable of reaching temperatures of up to 28,000 degrees Celsius (50,000 degrees Fahrenheit). Sorry, but I don't think even the toughest WWs are surviving that!_

_3\. On the other website, some people asked "__If the HULK mech is so effective, why didn't anyone think to use it earlier?__" Well, this is partly because of __Rule Of Drama__, but also because it just didn't occur to the Sarge until things got really desperate. Mechs are generally not used in future warfare (except in riot control) because their high profile makes them easy targets for missiles, railguns, or other heavy weapons. In any case, Hawthorne was more willing to put his faith in conventional tactics and weapons, and didn't think about using the mech until the Wights' numbers proved to be far more than they had initially imagined._


	65. Fred 10

**40 meters below Ground Level  
Outpost B  
Northern Sector aka "The North"  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4**

**_Snap_** flashed the camera as Fred took another photograph of Specimen WW04. "Fantastic!" he remarked, "I know they're not quite on the same level as some of the stuff they found on L-Zero and L5, but for what it's worth, I think we really hit the jackpot!"

"Director Kovacs," spoke up VENI from where she was working, "given the nature of some of the aforementioned discoveries made on Planets EE-L0 and EE-L5, perhaps it is for the best that this find is, quote, 'not quite on the same level'. I believe you organics have a saying along the lines of 'be careful what you wish for'."

"Fair enough," replied Fred, and sat down at the desk that had been set up down here in the crypt. The place was still cold as hell, so Fred wore a ski mask and a beanie and also had his jacket zipped up. Still, though, it was a little warmer now that WW01, -02, and -03 were topside. That, and the LED lights set up down here added somewhat of a warmer mood to the place. If they set up a few more lights, maybe some heaters too, and then removed the bodies, who knows, it might actually be a pleasant place to work.

As he watched and took photos and compiled the report he planned to send to Teller, VENI had been hard at work over these last few hours, running tests and scans throughout the complex, and particularly on its occupants.

"Lord Kovacs," spoke one of the native laborers, Dale, as he approached. He and two others, Darrel and Merle, had remained down here in the tomb to assist with setting up some of the equipment, while the others had gone up to break for dinner. He continued: "those crates that you requested are delivered."

"Ah, perfect. Thanks," said Fred, "you guys should take a break, you've earned it. We'll meet back here in half-an-hour and get this last body moved."

"Thank you, m'lord," replied Dale, and left.

When they were alone again, Fred turned to face VENI: "so… what do you make of all this?"

"It is pertinent that you ask, Director Kovacs. Based on the preliminary analyses over this facility and its occupants that I have been conducting over these last six hours, I have formulated a number of different theories as to their origins."

"Okay, let's hear 'em."

"Very well. I have already voiced my first theory; nevertheless, I shall reiterate it on the off chance that you may have forgotten the finer details. My primary theory is that (1) this facility is a kind of 'maximum-security prison' built by the organic civilization colloquially known (and hereafter referred to) as 'the First Men' for holding Cryohumans captured at the end of the quasi-historical conflict colloquially (and hereafter) referred to as 'the Long Night'. These human remains are those of the Necro-hominids known as 'Wights' that were imprisoned here together with their masters. Corporal Snow possessed the requisite DNA for accessing this facility as he is a direct genetic descendant of the organic individual known in indigenous folklore as 'Brandon The Builder', who may have been one-and-the-same with the individual who commissioned the construction of this facility, or himself a descendant if it was constructed much earlier."

"My second theory is that (2) this facility is a prison built not by the First Men, but rather by the arboreal organic civilization colloquially referred to as the 'Children Of The Forest' (_Filius silvanus westerosensis_; hereinafter referred to as 'Children'), for holding members of both the Cryohuman and First Men civilizations."

"Hang on," said Fred, frowning, "I thought the Children and the 'First Men' were allies against the 'Walkers."

"I never cease to be amused by you organics and your tendencies to grossly oversimplify complex and prolonged political conflicts and to often reduce elaborate socio-political hierarchies with numerous sub-factions within them into singular monolithic entities," replied VENI, "Just because 'Children' and 'First Men' were allies in their mutual conflict against the Cryohumans does not necessarily mean that all 'Children' were pleased with this arrangement with the 'First Men', and vice versa – some hostilities between the two factions may very well have continued even long after their alliance against a mutual enemy. I believe that your own species' history is rife with examples of such temporary alliances forged between hostile parties only in response to a greater threat."

"I guess," muttered Fred, "but then if this place was built by the Children, why was Jon able to open it?"

"I am working on that part of the equation," she replied, "however, it may be that Corporal Snow possesses the same innate thaumic potential as his close familial relative, Subject B. Stark, and that few other organics possess."

She continued: "my third theory (3) is that this facility was a refuge built by the Cryohumans themselves, as a hideaway after being defeated during the Long Night. If that is the case, then it is possible that Specimens WW01, -02, -03, and -04 were stragglers left behind when the rest of their kind retreated further north. Cornered and for all they know abandoned by their peers, they may have built this refuge to hide from the victorious 'First Men', and planned to remain dormant until the next 'Long Night'. The human remains found in the tomb may have been Wights whom the Cryohumans employed as their thralls. As to the reason why Corporal Snow was nonetheless still able to access this facility, I am still formulating a plausible explanation."

"Maybe one of the early Starks was a traitor who helped the 'Walkers, and thus got 'exclusive backstage pass' privileges or something," suggested Fred.

"That is a possibility," she replied, "the texts in Winterfell suggest that one notable Human organic who defected to the cause of the Cryohumans, the legendary figure known in indigenous folklore as 'the Night's King', may have been a member of the Stark Family, so this phenomenon would most certainly not be without precedent. This is a perfect transition to my next theory.

"My fourth theory (4) is that this facility may have been built to serve as both a place of worship and a secret hideout by a splinter faction of 'First Men' who may have actively worshiped the Cryohumans as deities."

"Worshiped?" said Fred, "are you suggesting that some humans may have been… _indoctrinated_ by the 'Walkers?"

"Possibly," she replied, "indoctrination, literally, means simply to educate others in a method of thinking that is fundamentally biased and uncritical of the view it wishes to enforce; it does not mean the form of active mind-control you seem to believe it is. Thus, it is a process that is at least _quasi-consensual_ in nature insofar as in order for indoctrination to work, the subject party must be at least partly willing to submit to the view that is presented to it."

"Fair enough," said Fred, stealing a glance over at WW04, "I can see why these fellows would _consent_ to worshiping these things… I mean, she's pretty easy on the eyes, if you know what I mean!"

"Correct, Director Kovacs. You organics seem to have an innate desire to believe in forces greater than yourselves, to worship that which you do not understand. Bearing this in mind, it is possible that these additional remains belonged to organics who conferred said divinity status upon these Cryohumans, and thus sought to appease them by offering sacrifices possibly including themselves – that is one possible explanation for these organic remains. Another explanation is that these cultists chose to bury themselves beside their deities as part of their beliefs in the afterlife."

"So they sealed themselves in here to be with their gods?" remarked Fred, "ugh, the things some people will do for their religion. And I don't suppose one of these cultists might have been an ancestor of Jon?"

"That is a possibility worth considering," she replied, "Alternatively, these organics may have sealed off this facility as a way of hiding from persecution by other 'First Men' – persecution based on superficial characteristics such as race, religious, political, and philosophical beliefs has formed an indelible part of organic history, and I would expect the 'First Men' to be no exception to this rule."

"My fifth and final theory (5) is that this facility is something else entirely – possibly built long before even the rise of the civilizations of either 'Children' or Cryohumans. In which case, the 'Children', the Cryohumans, and the 'First Men' all may have utilized this facility at one point or another over the millennia to pay homage to this precursor race – as far as we can discern, this precursor race may have been a visitor from one of the other three habitable worlds within this system, or from another world altogether."

"Damn, we're really getting into some real Black Monolith, Nazca-Lines, Easter Island, History Channel-type stuff here…" muttered Fred, deep in thought. All this thinking over what VENI had said was making him hungry, so maybe they'd go up for dinner soon… "well, whatever it is, it's a pretty convenient coincidence that we just so happened to have one of Ned Stark's sons with us at the time that we got here."

"Actually," spoke VENI, "you must excuse me, Director Kovacs, but my earlier statement as to the biological heritage of Corporal Snow now appears to have been erroneous."

"Oh? How so?"

"As you may recall, I had asserted earlier with near 100% certainty that Corporal Snow is the direct _first-degree_ genetic relative of Director Stark. Following that statement, I decided to use a few available micro-seconds of my spare time to connect to our colony's medical database and validate this assertion. As you know, we extracted a sample of Corporal Snow's blood during his medical check-up when he first enrolled in our private paramilitary force. We also now possess a sample from Director Stark, which I had acquired during my treatment of his injuries sustained at the hands of Commander J. Lannister. I have compared the two strands, and have concluded with almost 100% certainty that Corporal Snow is only a _second-degree_ genetic relative of Director Stark."

"Wait, what?" piped up Fred, "so you mean, like, a _nephew_?"

"Correct," she replied, "I believe the historical records indicate that Director Stark had three living siblings at the time roughly approximate to the conception of Corporal Snow: two brothers, designated 'Brandon' and 'Benjen', and one sister, designated 'Lyanna'. It is possible that one of these three individuals may have been the actual biological parent of Corporal Snow."

"Well, well!" smirked Fred, "man, I always thought Ned's far too honest a fella to be cheating on his wife. This would explain everything!"

"You do not intend to use this information to blackmail Director Stark, do you?"

"Me? No. Why would I?" shrugged Fred, "it's not like we gain anything from everyone knowing Jon's not Ned's son. If anything, it would be better for Ned… at least his wife would sure be pleased to know that." He got up and stretched his legs. "But enough about that. Let's head back up, shall we? I wonder what's for dinner…"

VENI, however, remained unresponsive. "What is it this time?" asked Fred, "c'mon, you know I'd never blackmail Ned unless it was _absolutely necessary_. Even a scoundrel like me still has some standards!"

"My apologies, Director Kovacs, but an urgent situation has arisen," she said.

_What? Oh shit, this couldn't be good_, thought Fred.

She continued: "I have just intercepted some of our surface communications… it appears that our research outpost facility is under attack."

Sure enough, Fred could hear a deep, rumbling **_BBWWAAAAAAHH_** echoing down the tunnel – it sounded vaguely like the _Inception_ soundtrack. _Shit, that would be the base's acoustic defense system..._ "Who the fuck is attacking us?" blurted Fred, "please tell me it's not Robb deciding to turn his back on our partnership and seize our assets for himself!"

"If that is your primary concern, then please be rest assured that it is not Director R. Stark who is attacking us," she replied. Fred breathed a sigh of relief. She continued: "it is actually an army of necro-hominids (A.K.A. 'Wights') who may or may not be subservient to the four specimens we acquired this evening." Fred promptly nearly shat himself.


	66. Fred 11

**40 meters below Ground Level  
Outpost B  
Northern Sector aka "The North"  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4**

From the minute they'd first set foot on the ground on Planet EE-L4, everyone on this mission knew that they would be "making camp among the wolves" – Earth's own middle ages were a violent and dangerous time to be alive, and this world promised to be no different. And appropriate security measures had been taken: a militia had been recruited, defenses raised, all personnel armed and given some basic training in self defense… but even then, absolutely no-one could have foreseen a situation like that which Fred now faced.

"Who the fuck is attacking us?" blurted Fred, "please tell me it's not Robb deciding to turn his back on our partnership and seize our assets for himself!"

"If that is your primary concern, then please be rest assured that it is not Director R. Stark Jr. who is attacking us," she replied. Fred breathed a sigh of relief. She continued: "it is actually an army of necro-hominids known as 'Wights' who may or may not be the servants of the four specimens we acquired." Fred nearly shat himself.

"Shit…" he stammered at last, "…we've… got to get top-side! VENI, can you help them? I'm not allowing anyone to die under my watch! It reflects badly on my record!"

VENI did not answer immediately. She had sensed something, and frowned. "Director Kovacs, new information has come to my attention. While the thaumic radiation is interfering with my sensors, I have nonetheless identified several movement signatures in the adjacent chamber. Warning: several of these movement signatures do not match any of our known employees. Assume hostilities."

As if to reinforce her point, the LED lights in the chamber suddenly began to flicker wildly, and the air in the tunnels began to swirl and howl as if the wind itself had somehow forced its way down here. Fred felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge. _Oh, I have a very bad feeling about this_, he thought. Just then, several figures appeared in the entrance of the chamber…

Fred recognized three of them: it was Dale, Darrel, and Merle! And yet… it wasn't them at the same time: their skin shone ghostly pale, as if the very life-blood had been drained from them, and their eyes glowed a deathly pale blue. Fred gulped. _They were Wights. And they had brought their new mighty Wighty friends with them too…_

"Director Kovacs," asked VENI, politely, "do I have your permission to engage and neutralize hostile life forms through whatever means may be deemed necessary?"

"Yes..." squeaked Fred. _No! Man up, you little bitch! Show some spine!_ "Ahem, uh, yes!" he ordered. The adrenaline now was pumping through his veins. "Whoever these men may have been in life, they are no more! Terminate them. Here, you take that half, and I'll take the other!"

"Affirmative," replied VENI; quick as a flash, she picked up a couple items from the desk (though Fred couldn't see which ones) and charged. Fred, meanwhile, reached down for his leather satchel, where he kept his handy Shocktaser, as well as a Colt M1911, extra clips, and three emergency flares.

Fred's first gut instinct was to reach for his handy Shocktaser, and fire a surge at the first creature approaching him, that which had previously been Merle. The blue arcs of lightning struck the former laborer-turned-walker and surged over his body. The Wight briefly jolted from the shock, but otherwise it just kept coming.

_Shit_, thought Fred. He fired again, this time turning up the power. Again, the creature kept coming. So he fired a third time – and this time, he turned the dial all the way up to maximum power. And he kept that trigger squeezed and never let go. The walking corpse jiggled and jolted, then jiggled and jolted some more, and before long began to sizzle and spark. At long last, the filthy son of a bitch dropped to the ground, smoking and motionless, whatever functioning organs and nerves it had left within it fried to a crisp. It smelled vaguely like an order of drive-thru Chinese.

Fred's Shocktaser now registered an empty battery. Crap. Well, time to go to the Colt … time to see if any of Sarge's personal defense lessons had rubbed off. _Don't aim for the head, these aren't normal zombies_, he reminded himself. _Aim for the chest; it's the center of mass, and it'll be easier to set on fire_. He took aim at the next approaching walker and fired two shots in unison, each **_BANG_** reverberating around the small chamber. The creature promptly burst into flames and crumpled onto the ground.

"A commendable effort, Director Kovacs," chided VENI, "for an organic that is." Fred looked over at her – she had swiftly dispatched the other six Wights in various and rather creative means, either through the use of fire, or simply tearing each attacker into progressively smaller and smaller pieces until the resultant pile of pulp could pose no more danger. Fred suppressed the sudden urge to throw up; the stink was overpowering. VENI continued: "alert: my sensors indicate that, based on movement scans, the central atrium of this facility may be swarming with as many as fifty individual necro-hominids. I shall neutralize this threat, but I request your assistance in providing fire support as this would greatly aid my performance efficiency."

"Just give the word," said Fred. VENI led the charge, grasping one of the worker's welding torches in one hand, and a buzz saw in the other. She moved far more quickly and elegantly than any Olympic gymnast, seeming to dance through the air and yet at the same time tearing through the gathering horde of undead like a freight train. Fred remained where he stood, in the stone doorway between the main atrium and the smaller chamber, firing off incendiary rounds into the horde, then switching mags and firing again. At several points, he'd pull one of the flares from his bag, light it, and throw it into the seething, squirming mass of bodies.

**_Click. Click._**

_Shit_, thought Fred, _out of ammo_. He quickly retreated back into the chamber, desperate to find something else he could arm himself with. Maybe he could find another welding torch like VENI had? Those things were absolute murder against the Wi…

Fred stopped dead in his tracks. He felt as if the very blood in his veins had frozen.

The central altar in the chamber was empty. No, instead, its former occupant now stood right in front of him.

He blinked in a mix of fear and utter fascination. Even after having spent the last few hours watching her, or _it_, as it lay in its eerie deathlike slumber, he was not quite prepared for the sight that greeted his eyes. She was a creature of terrible beauty, gleaming blue eyes that seemed to glow even more brightly than any of the LED lights set up in the chamber, long crystalline hair billowing about in the howling wind. Somehow, she had conjured clothing for herself – a kind of form-fitting armor of dappled grey-green – oh, and _a big fuckin' sword of ice_. And when she spoke, it was more a snarl that sounded like an ice sheet cracking up. She was not pleased.

Usually, now would have been the time that Fred would have pissed himself (and he probably already had at some point). But, somehow, Fred was right now too coked up on whatever it was that had sustained him against the Wights to let that get the better of him. Instead, he reached down for the one thing he had left: his obsidian-lined knife.

"You're a pretty gal, aren't ya. Wanna dance?" he said. He then drew his knife and threw himself at her.

Even after thousands of years in slumber, Specimen WW04 still moved with an agility that was most unnatural, like gliding along the ground rather than stepping upon it. WW04 moved to the side, and then swung its blade around and up at Fred's head. Whether propelled by sheer adrenaline or stupidity or some combination of both, Fred ducked, and then slashed at the creature's legs.

The knife grazed her thigh – not a deep cut, but she screamed in pain all the same and the cut began to steam. Fred smiled – though that celebration was short-lived. With her other leg, WW04 planted a kick right into his belly with enough ungodly force to throw him against the wall behind him. For a second, he was sure he'd cracked a couple ribs.

Specimen WW04 reached down to the ground and picked up something… the knife. _Fuck, I must've dropped it!_ She examined it for a second, taking great care to grasp it only from the steel part and not the obsidian part. She then threw it into the air, swung her own crystal sword around, and struck the knife in midair, hitting it on the steel part. The knife shattered like glass, sending tiny shards flying everywhere.

Fred looked around wildly for something else to arm himself with… anything at all. He knew there had been a welding torch left behind in this room by the dig-crews, but it seems that VENI had already taken it earlier. _Shit… well, in that case, better to take my chances back outside with the Wights_. Fred turned around and made a maddened sprint for the doorway, but he knew from the hairs standing up on the back his neck that the ice cold bitch was hot (cold?) on his heels. Fred ran for all his legs were worth. If only he could reach VENI and the others… if only…

_Too late_. A sharp pain stabbed right through his lower abdomen, and he knew right away that the bitch had got him.

Fred crumpled onto the floor, face up. WW04 stood over him, a malevolent look of triumph upon her face. In her right hand, she held up her sword, covered in blood – Fred's own – and took the time to admire it, almost as if mocking him with the sight of it. The sound she made must've been her species' version of laughter, but right now, it sounded like ice grinding against rock.

"Go on," spat Fred, coughing up blood, "[Cough] What are you waiting for? [Cough] Do it! Do it now!"

But Specimen WW04 seemed to have other ideas. _What… what the hell was she doing? Is she trying to torture me before I die?_ The creature knelt down gently beside Fred where he lay, like… like… a mother putting her child to sleep? It was then that the realization struck him: _NOOOOOOO! She's gonna turn me into one of those Wights!_ No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! NOOOOOOOO! Fred struggled and squirmed and recoiled in horror at the thought of being just another soulless creature among the White Walking dead…

WW04, by contrast, calmly laid her right index finger upon his left cheek. Fred shuddered. Even through the ski-mask he wore, he could feel the cold, the impossible cold, cold so intense that _it burned_. He thought he could feel his own brain freezing in his skull, his memories flashing through his mind… Mom; Dad; his sister Ellie and his little brother Jeff too; his ex, Annie, with whom things just never coulda worked out (to be fair, Fred was a pretty shitty boyfriend...); his best friend Daniel and all the antics they got up to back in college; his first day at The Company™; the day he first arrived here on L4 and met Ned and Jon and Robb and the others; the day VENI arrived; the day that bratty little prince almost died because of some childish laxative prank (that he oddly felt no regrets about: that little shithead _really_ had it coming)… all of these memories slowly began to flash vividly in his mind, and then slowly turn to black and grey and fade away... all those moments lost in time... like tears in rain…

The white bitch suddenly stopped. Her head jerked back violently, and she let go of Fred. Color and vision suddenly returned to his eyes, and he looked up to see what was the meaning of this disturbance…

"I COMMAND THAT YOU CEASE THIS HARASSMENT OF DIRECTOR KOVACS IN A MOST EXPEDIENT MANNER, YOU (to use the organic terminology) _BITCH_!" boomed a voice that could have only have belonged to one person, and at that moment, that person appeared to Fred's weary eyes to be an angel.

With superhuman strength, VENI grabbed that creature by its hair, and pulled. Fred blinked in disbelief. VENI's hands… her whole body in fact… was starting to glow slightly. Steam began hissing forth from where she grasped the monster's crystalline hair. WW04 flailed and kicked and screamed, but VENI held her tight and never let go. And then, still dragging that monster along the ground by its hair, she spun around on the spot, and threw that creature right into the wall with a _**thud**_ like a chunk of ice breaking off a glacier and crashing to the valley below.

Even injured and weak as he was, Fred had to admit there was something oddly titillating about watching this exotic dance of ice and fire incarnate (what? If he was gonna die, might as well enjoy himself in his final moments...). And sure enough, when WW04 had her back against the wall, VENI stared her face to face, and spoke: "YOU ARE TERMINATED!" With that, a brilliant beam of blinding light roared forth out of VENI's chest, punching right through WW04's own chest.

The creature screamed and cried out with the most shrill, hellish, and pained wail imaginable. Fred had to cover his ears, and look away too, such was the painful intensity of light and heat that VENI was giving off.

And then, just as quickly as it started, it was over. Fred looked back. WW04 was gone – all that remained of her were thin wisps of vapor in the air. VENI, meanwhile, had cooled down and stopped glowing, though when she turned around to come over to Fred's side, he noticed something: there was a hole in her chest, right where the upper sternum would have been in a human, revealing a glowing and swirling orange vortex underneath…

"What [cough]… I… what did you [cough]… do?" stammered Fred.

VENI knelt down by his side, and ran her hands over Fred's crumpled body, checking his injuries. Her hands were still uncomfortably hot to the touch, though anything was better than the cold. _Oh God, the cold, that horrible cold..._ "It is pertinent that you ask, Director Kovacs," she replied at last, "I have activated the emergency plasma-venting protocol of this platform's reactor core. I am currently running on reserve power."

"I [cough] thought you said you didn't have any… inbuilt weapons or anything," sputtered Fred.

"You are correct," she replied, nonchalantly, "this platform's emergency plasma-venting function _technically_ does not count as an offensive weapons system. It is _technically_ a safety feature designed with the intention of preventing a dangerous reactor plasma buildup."

"Okay," coughed Fred, sputtering up blood, "Shit, that bitch got me. VENI, listen: if I die here tonight… tell Mom and Dad and Ellie and Jeff too that I love them. [Cough]… and tell Annie I'm sorry, I never shoulda chosen this mission over her (and I know you've been hacking my personal files, so you know who I'm talkin' about) [cough]… and tell Daniel the colony's in his hands now [cough]… and tell Mr. Belleville that he can honestly go fuck himself. There, I said it."

"Director Kovacs," she replied gently, "I believe the combination of shock, trauma, and loss of blood is causing you to behave deliriously and express irrational thoughts. Rest assured, the very fact that you are still cognizant, coupled with my own anatomical diagnostic scans, suggest that you have a reasonable probability of survival provided that you receive immediate medical care. For this reason, I shall sedate you whilst I perform an emergency medical procedure."

"VENI… I dunno what to say… I… thank-_aaaahhh_!" he groaned and shuddered as VENI got to work. _Shit, that hurt like hell..._

"Director Kovacs, I highly recommend that you please try to remain calm until the sedative takes effect, in order to assist me in maximizing the efficiency of my work."

Fred rolled his head to the side and threw up, a pungent mix of bile and blood and God knows whatever else. He cleared his throat and looked back up at his guardian angel. The sedative was starting to take effect and his vision and speech were slurred: "V-V-VENI… listen… T-T-Teller says… you're j-just a ma-machine… but fu-fuck him! You're m-more than that… th-th-thank you."

"There is no need to express gratitude, Director Kovacs," she replied, "I am merely acting within the perimeters of my directives." She paused and smiled: "However, for what it is worth, you are certainly most welcome."


	67. Battle Report 1: Battle of Outpost B

**From: [REDACTED]  
To: [REDACTED]  
Re: Report on Outpost B incident  
Time: 1145hr**

Mr. Teller:

As you requested, here's our report on last night's little incident. I'll keep you posted just in case something new comes up. Fred's still in the ICU, but VENI and Dr. Chakwas are pretty sure he won't be needing a transfer to the _Horizonte _anytime too soon. VENI says he'll be cognizant again by tomorrow evening so we can ask him then what happened, though I can't imagine he'll have anything more to share than what VENI already told us (well, with the exception of what exactly was going on in his mind that induced him to pull a stunt like charging a Cryohuman head on).

Anyway, I'm taking over for now and Kelsey's taking over my job in the interim (Niall and Kelly will be sharing her job in the meantime). We'll pull through, we always do in the end. Apart from the time and resources we had poured into Outpost B, we're on top of everything else.

Best regards,  
Daniel Zimmerman

P.S. By the way, Kamran's been bugging me this whole morning for a transfer. I guess last night's events really got him rethinking his position on our survey team. I can't blame him, but it's not like he deserves preferential treatment over everyone else. Anyway, I told the fella to calm down and remember that it's not like things are going any smoother over on either L-Zero or L5, but I thought a "friendly reminder" from the management might also help put him in his place.

* * *

**FOR YOUR EYES ONLY  
Status: CLASSIFIED, Level-5  
By: Zimmerman et al  
Date filed: Day 126 After Arrival (Feb 04, 2155 C.E.)**

**AFTER ACTION REPORT:  
ARMED ENGAGEMENT against HOSTILE NATIVE LIFE FORMS at Outpost B****  
A.K.A. "The Battle Of Outpost B"**

**§1. BASIC INFORMATION  
**

**Date**: Day 125 After Arrival (Feb 03, 2155 C.E.)  
**Location**: Outpost B, approx. 12 miles NE of Autumn's Frontier, Northern Sector (aka "The North"), Western Continent (aka "Westeros")  
**Participants**:  
+_Defenders_: The Company™; the United Nations Colonial Defense Force (UNCDF)  
+_Attackers_: hostile indigenous Cryo- &amp; Necro-hominid life forms  
**Outcome**:  
+_Tactical UN/Company™ victory_: attacking forces repulsed; casualties among personnel deemed acceptable; valuable intel on Cryohuman military capabilities collected.  
+_Strategic setback_: loss of valuable Specimens considered a hindrance to continued scientific explorations in this sector; long-term political and social fallout from incident impossible to accurately determine (see §8 below).

**§2. ORDER OF BATTLE  
**

**§2.1. U.N./THE COMPANY™ FORCES: 60 total  
_Outpost Defenders_: 34**  
+5 UNCDF Colonial Marines  
+9 "White Wolf" militiamen  
+8 Company™ personnel  
+12 native laborers  
+1 HULK unit  
**_Reinforcements_: 26**  
+4 UNCDF Colonial Marines  
+2 UNCDF Star Fleet pilots  
+20 "White Wolf" militiamen  
+2 LXT-130 Falcon Gunships  
**_Commanders_:**  
+Sgt. Hawthorne (overall + UNCDF defenders)  
+Cpl. Snow (militia defenders)  
+Cpl. Hullen (militia defenders)  
+Pvt. Elway (UNCDF reinforcements)  
+Cpl. Loghan (militia reinforcements)

**§2.2. HOSTILE NATIVE FORCES: 700+  
**+4 Cryohumans of the species _Cryohomo albus ambulator_ (aka "Others" or "White Walkers" in the local dialect)  
+At least 1,000 Necro-hominids (aka "Wights"), primarily derived from the species _Homo sapiens_, but including at least four derived from the species _Gigantopithecus westerosensis_ (aka "Westerosi Giant")  
_***NOTE**: exact figures are impossible to determine; in order to neutralize the threat, many of the attacking "Wights" had to be either incinerated or bodily disintegrated in a manner that does not leave discreet remains. The 1,000 baseline-figure was arrived at by combining data collected from the Colonial Marines' helmet cameras, Outpost B's closed-circuit surveillance grid, as well as cameras and scanners mounted on our HULK units, on our UAVs, and on the LXT-130 Falcons._  
**_Commanders_:**  
+Specimen WW01  
+Specimen WW02  
+Specimen WW03  
+Specimen WW04

**§3. PRELUDE  
**

At roughly 1600hr on Day 125, an excavation team from Autumn's Frontier discovered an ancient underground complex located 40m below the surface, believed to have possibly have been a crypt of some kind. This facility contained the bodies of 4 members of the species recently designated _Cryohomo albus ambulator_, though more commonly known as "Others" or "White Walkers" in the local dialect.

In light of this significant scientific discovery, Dir. Kovacs and Asst-Dir. Zimmerman were approved the budget and resources, by Dir. Teller, to construct a secondary compound on the site for the sole purpose of performing further study and examination of this find. Over the next 6 hours, supplies, equipment, and prefabricated units were brought in from the main colony and set up into a field base-of-operations, designated "Outpost B" (as it is located on Grid Reference B5467).

Meanwhile, dig-teams recovered three of the four Cyrohumans, designated Specimen WW01, WW02, and WW03, and brought them back to the surface for experimentation. While the specimens were deemed to be inactive, Dir. Kovacs and Asst-Dir. Zimmerman nonetheless ordered that said specimens be restrained with special custom-made shackles lined with obsidian (a substance determined to be some form of anathema to these life forms).

Just prior to 2200hr, the on-site research team paused for a dinner break, intending to retrieve the fourth Cryohuman, Specimen WW04, afterwards. Dir. Kovacs, however, opted to remain in the crypt and continue scientific studies, assisted in these efforts by the Nexus-8 Synthetic Platform designated "VENI", and 3 of our native laborers.

**§4. COURSE OF BATTLE: SURFACE ENGAGEMENT  
**

At just after 2200hr, our Vixen-39 satellite registered a local meteorological anomaly in the area. Sgt. N. Hawthorne, acting commander of all UNCDF and militia forces in the area, took note of this and ordered the investigation of this phenomenon. At 2205hr, a light Unmanned Aerial Vehicle (UAV) equipped with a newly installed thaumometer was dispatched to reconnoiter the area of this disturbance. The UAV's instruments recorded higher-than-normal thaumic radiation levels in the area, and later detected several hundred humanoid figures converging on the location of Outpost B. Analyses of the video footage confirmed that these humanoids were so-called "Wights" – a form of necromorphic-hominid believed to be subservient to the Cryohuman race.

It was determined that this approaching herd of "Wights" may possibly harbor hostile intentions. The exact origins and motivation of this attacking force is currently unknown and under investigation (please consult §7 of this report as to a possible explanation). Whatever the cause may have been, Sgt. Hawthorne hastily formulated a defense plan and radioed back to the main colony, requesting backup in the event that these native life forms prove to be hostile. However, the two UNSF LXT-130 Falcon Gunships kept on-site would require up to 20 minutes to scramble.

Meanwhile, with the "Wights" converging on Outpost B's outermost perimeter, Sgt. Hawthorne attempted to seek a diplomatic solution by requesting that the hostile native life forms stand down. When the "Wights" refused to comply with this request, Sgt. Hawthorne attempted a second warning, this time employing warning flares and the outpost's close-in Nonlethal Acoustic Defense System (NADS). When aforementioned warning measures failed, Sgt. Hawthorne determined that the "Wights" had acted in violation of the UNASEC Charter, and thus the use of lethal force was now authorized. (See UNASEC Charter Art. 7 §§4, which authorizes any Terran entity, UNASEC-affiliated or otherwise, to employ a reasonable level of lethal force if deemed necessary to provide for the immediate safety and security of Terran citizens, provided that reasonable efforts were first made to resolve the situation peacefully; as a Non-Commissioned Officer in the United Nations Colonial Marine Corps, we hold that Sgt. Hawthorne had acted perfectly within the bounds of his discretion when he gave the order to open fire).

For the first few minutes, the volume of firepower put out by the outpost defenders proved effective. Incendiaries in particular yielded the best results against the hostile native life forms, although normal armor-piercing and explosive rounds too possessed some tactical utility in the dismemberment and disintegration of attacking individuals. However, it soon became apparent that the number of hostiles proved to be far higher than what was originally believed, and before long, ammunition reserves began to dwindle. The defense was further hampered when a group of roughly 100 "Wights" attempted to perform a flanking maneuver; one Marine and 5 militiamen were promptly dispatched to intercept this counterattack.

Eventually, with ammunition running low and reinforcements still some ways away, Sgt. Hawthorne made the tactical decision to fall back to Outpost B's central lab, the most secure part of the compound, and to barricade the doors and await relief. During the retreat, Sgt. Hawthorne ordered one of the civilian employees, Mr. A. Digby, to power up the Outpost's last remaining HULK unit and cover their retreat, confident that the "Wights" did not possess the capabilities of penetrating the unit's industrial-grade armor.

Once all personnel had reported to the main lab, Sgt. Hawthorne determined that the Cryohumans being kept in storage were either the primary objective of the attacking forces, or else providing the "thaumic energy" needed to sustain them. Thus, in the best interests of preserving the lives of all personnel on-site, all Specimens would have to be terminated. Sgt. Hawthorne also ordered all personnel to lay down firearms due to concerns that discharge of firearms within a cramped, enclosed, and reinforced area, particularly by untrained civilians and inexperienced green recruits, would pose high risk of collateral damage.

Upon the opening of the storage vault where Specimens WW01, 02, and 03 were being held, it was found that all three specimens were awake and active. Two of them, WW02 and WW03, had somehow managed to unshackle themselves, and were in the process of assisting WW01 with its own restraints. In the confused and chaotic melee that ensued, one of the militiamen, Pvt. Pypar, was killed-in-action by WW02, as was one of the civilian workers, while 2 other militiamen, Pvt. Halder and Yeren, and 7 of the workers, were all injured to varying degrees (mostly due to collateral damage from their fellow workers). WW03 was killed by Sgt. Hawthorne, while WW02 was killed by Cpl. Hullen. WW01 attempted escape, but was killed in the process by Mr. Digby, using a plasma-rock-cutter mounted on the HULK unit he was piloting.

By 2225hr, Falcons 03 and 04 had arrived on the scene with additional reinforcements. While Falcon 03 (piloted by Lt. McConaughey) performed several strafing runs of the area, deploying its Markalite-12 Pulse Laser as an anti-personnel weapon, Falcon 04 (piloted by Lt. Conran) deployed a relief force consisting of 4 Colonial Marines and 20 militiamen, via Fast Rope Insertion Extraction System (FRIES). On the advice of Sgt. Hawthorne, these forces had equipped themselves primarily with incendiary ammunition and five flamethrower units before departing the colony.

Sgt. Hawthorne's first priority was to secure the main lab, and have medical specialist Pvt. Hamada attend to the wounded. Leaving Pvt. Hamada, Cpl. Hullen, and 9 militiamen there, the remaining forces (8 Colonial Marines and 16 militiamen) were divided into three squads: Sgt. Hawthorne led the Marines down into the tunnels to secure that area and rescue any survivors found there, while the 2 militia squads, under the command of Cpl. Snow and Cpl. Loghan, fanned out and swept up any remaining resistance that may have been missed by Lt. McConaughey's strafing runs.

**§5. COURSE OF BATTLE: SUBTERRANEAN ENGAGEMENT  
**

At the time that the surface engagement commenced, Dir. Kovacs, VENI, and 3 native laborers were employed in the preparations for extraction of Specimen WW04. When informed of the situation topside, Dir. Kovacs immediately ordered all personnel to return to the surface and assist in the defense. However, this effort was stalled when Specimen WW04 unexpectedly awakened itself as well as several dozen of its minions. All 3 native laborers were caught offguard by these "Wights" and converted into "Wights" themselves (although the exact process by which this is achieved is as yet unknown).

Dir. Kovacs and VENI put up an effective defense against the "Wights", whose numbers are estimated to have been at about 49. However, Specimen WW04 herself proceeded to attack and inflict serious life-threatening injuries upon Dir. Kovacs while VENI was preoccupied with the rest of the main bulk of "Wights".

What happened next is a matter of some debate. If Specimen WW04 had intended to terminate Dir. Kovacs, its behavior was inconsistent with this goal. We believe that Specimen WW04 either intended to convert Dir. Kovacs into another "Wight" himself, or else inflict severe torture upon him in some manner we cannot as yet identify. We will be certain to inquire Dir. Kovacs as to his first-hand experience of the process upon his recovery.

Whatever the case may have been, WW04 was prevented from completing this process thanks to the timely intervention of VENI, who then terminated the Specimen by employing her emergency power core venting protocol as an improvised short-range plasma weapon. Having neutralized all other possible threats, VENI then proceeded to perform life-saving field surgery on Dir. Kovacs. The two were found in this position when Sgt. Hawthorne arrived on the scene minutes later.

**§6. CASUALTIES  
**

**UN/The Company™: 14  
**+5 KIA  
+9 WIA (incl. Dir. Kovacs)  
**Hostile Natives: total  
**+All four Cryohuman specimens were destroyed.  
+All attacking Necro-hominid forces were destroyed.

**§7. THEORIES ON THE ORIGIN OF ATTACKING FORCES  
**

The exact origin, nature, and motivation of the hostile native forces we encountered are currently unknown and will likely remain so until new data becomes available. However, we may speculate on these based on data collected by our satellites, by our UAVs, and by the sensors built into the Falcons. Thus far, we know the following:

+The hostile force that attacked Outpost B (hereafter "Surface Hostiles") and the hostile "Wights" encountered underground (hereafter "Subterranean Hostiles") were _not_ of the same origin.  
+The "Surface Hostiles" consisted of approx. 1,000 necro-hominids, although an exact figure is impossible to find. Due to the nature of the threat, all of the bodies had to be either incinerated, or else completely disintegrated, and thus, leaving very few discreet and intact corpses for analysis.  
+The "Surface Hostiles" seem to have originated from a point approx. 4 miles east of Outpost B, in Grid Reference B8621. Immediately after the battle, at approx. 2300hr, Asst-Dir. Zimmerman dispatched three UAVs to perform a thorough reconnaissance of the area. One of the notable features found in Grid Reference B8621 appears to be a peat bog of some kind, with closer scans revealing fresh disturbances of the area's surface. The area also registered higher-than-average background thaumic radiation levels.

Based on the above evidence, we believe that the bog area found at Site B8621 may have been a mass grave of some kind. One possible theory is that this area marks the site of an ancient battle that occurred between forces allied with the Cryohumans, and those aligned with the ancient Westerosi Human civilization known as "the First Men". The bodies of anyone killed during that battle were probably appropriated by the Cryohumans. Another possible theory is that this area is the site of another facility similar to the one found at B5467, which might even contain Specimens WW05, -06, and -07 (only four out of seven chambers found at B5467 were occupied).

Whatever the case may have been, Site B8621 must have been the source of the "Surface Hostiles". A mix of the bog's natural anaerobic environment rich in tannic acids combined with some of the area's innate thaumic energy would have generated conditions ideal for the remarkable preservation of hundreds of necro-hominid forms over thousands of years. For whatever reason, the excavation of the facility at Site B5467 "awakened" these dormant forms. We are still trying to figure out the exact process by which this occurred, but we have several theories.

It is possible that the mere physical act of removing Specimens WW01, -02, and -03 from their resting place inside the crypt and bringing them to the surface was what triggered the "awakening". Alternatively, it is possible that some combination of the full moon that night together with the thaumically-active lunar rock samples stored back at our main colony provided the catalyst. A third explanation is that the very nature of the experiments and scans we performed on these Specimens was what "awakened" them. Whatever the case may have been, it is without a doubt clear that it was the presence of Specimens WW01, -02, -03, and -04 that drew the "Surface Hostiles" to Outpost B.

This is all just speculation of course, and we can neither confirm nor disprove anything concrete until further exploration is performed. Granted, in light of this most recent event, we would like to take time to recuperate our strength and recover before we attempt any further explorations.

**§8. AFTERMATH + ACTIONABLE ITEMS  
**

The exact long-term effects on our agenda here on Planet EE-L4 are unknown, although we may speculate. Below, I have divided our summary of possible short &amp; long-term impacts by theme, along with several actionable items that are either in progress or in the planning stage.

**§8.1. CASUALTIES &amp; REPLACEMENTS  
**

Asst-Dir. D. Zimmerman has assumed acting director status due to the injuries sustained by Dir. F. Kovacs. Chief Eng. K. Trevino has assumed assistant directorial status. A complete diagnosis of Dir. Kovacs' injuries and duration of incapacitation will be made available later today (Feb 04, 2155 C.E.) by Dr. K. Chakwas.

Our native militia suffered the following casualties:  
+Pvt. Pypar, KIA by Specimen WW02  
+Pvt. Halder, WIA by Specimen WW01  
+Pvt. Yeren, WIA by Specimen WW01  
+Pvt. Alyn, WIA during the "cleanup" operation

Our civilian workforce suffered the following casualties:  
+3 native workers KIA while working underground with Dir. Kovacs and VENI  
+1 native worker KIA during the chaotic melee that broke out in the central lab  
+1 Terran worker and 4 native workers WIA during the chaotic melee in the central lab

We will ensure that the wounded receive adequate medical attention and compensation. We will ensure that the deceased receive a proper cremation and funerary rites respectful to indigenous traditions. We will also prepare compensation packages that will be forwarded to their next-of-kin (provided, of course, that their next-of-kin can be identified at all).

**§8.2. SAFETY &amp; SECURITY  
**

Our immediate concern, of course, is the security issue this incident raises, coupled with the irreplaceable loss of four invaluable specimens. While we are now certain that other Cryohuman specimens exist, their exact location, and whether it is possible to capture and detain one, are all currently unknown.

The existence of Sites B5467 and B8621 is a troubling one, as it implies the possible existence of other such sites throughout the continent. Fortunately, the fact that these sites, if they exist at all, have been dormant for the last few millennia strongly suggests that they will continue to remain inactive unless actively disturbed in a manner similar to our excavation of Site B5467. Nevertheless, this revelation shows that we must remain ever vigilant.

It is for this reason that we request authorization and additional funding to increase the size of our native militia forces. Ideally, we should plan to triple the size of our current garrison at Autumn's Frontier, from 40 to 120 troops, in the next month.

On the positive side, intelligence gathered during the battle has confirmed the effectiveness of obsidian-based and incendiary weaponry against these hostile indigenous life forms. When combating Necro-hominids aka "Wights", incendiary weapons are by far the most effective, although highly explosive weapons are also useful. However, it would appear that while Cryohumans react adversely to all forms of heat, incendiary ammunition appears to do little more than inflict light injuries upon them. The lessons learned at the Battle of Outpost B show that the most reliable way of terminating a Cryohuman is either through obsidian (which appears to be some form of anathema to their biology), or through the deployment of plasma weaponry (capable of reaching temperatures of several thousand degrees Kelvin).

It is for these reasons, I recommend that our armory at Autumn's Frontier emphasize the mass production of weaponry that integrates incendiaries, high explosives, and obsidian, as well as the integration of industrial-grade plasma cutting equipment into our forces as melee-ranged weaponry. All things considered, I believe that we were fortunate in this engagement to have had the veteran fighting men and women of the UNCDF on our side, the intel that VENI took from the Winterfell archives, and at least several minutes of forewarning before the attacking force arrived - the lack of either of these factors in our favor might have produced a very different outcome.

**§8.3. CONTINUED SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH &amp; EXPLORATION  
**

The destruction of four live Cryohuman specimens is a most regrettable loss to our research efforts, but alas, it was ultimately a necessary one to make in order to ensure the safety of our personnel and facilities. The containment system we devised for the purposes of detaining our specimens, while innovative and sound in principle, ultimately proved insufficient in practice. We will have to first improve the concept before we even consider attempting to acquire another live Cryohuman specimen for our experiments.

Fortunately, this incident is not a total loss for The Company™: we do still possess the experimental data, cell samples, video footage, and anatomical scans we took of all four specimens during the approximately six hours between their discovery and their destruction. Until we can capture another live Cryohuman, our research teams will have to make do with this data. We have also procured skin and tissue samples of the "Wights" in the hopes that we may be able to figure out this "Wightification" process, if it is similar to processes we encountered on Planet EE-L0, and if we may develop counter-measures against it for our personnel in future.

Site B5467 also remains thaumically active, although to a far less potent extent ever since the removal of all four Specimens. Despite the loss, we intend to continue to operate Outpost B primarily for the study of both Site B5467 and B8621, and any value they may possess whether towards our thaumaturgical research, or towards our archaeological and historical records for Planet EE-L4.

**§8.4. POLITICAL &amp; LEGAL RAMIFICATIONS  
**

We cannot as yet confirm the social and political effects of this incident. However, given the size of our native workforce, it is inevitable that news of this incident will leak out eventually, at least to the local area.

For this reason, we have decided to inform the local government at Winterfell immediately; if Lord Stark is to learn of this incident, and it is certain that he will, it is far better that he learn of it from us rather than through a third party. He will certainly be interested to know, as the possible existence of sites similar to Site B5467 throughout the Northern Sector poses a serious threat to the Realm's national security.

We may actually be able to leverage this to our advantage: the revelation of a new threat to national security may motivate Lord Stark into investing further resources in the expansion of the Northern Sector's military – resources that will eventually flow into our own coffers as we will, of course, be providing much of the expertise, advise, and of course hardware that Lord Stark needs.

As to the legal and political ramifications back on Earth, well, we cannot say for sure. That is why we request the assistance of Ms. S. Carson and the Office of Legal Counsel. For what it is worth, however, we do not believe we engaged in any unwarranted actions or in any way overstepped our legal boundaries; we only acted in self-defense and in retaliation for an unprovoked attack on our personnel, which is permitted under the UNASEC Code. Also, the order to engage the attacking forces was given by Sgt. Hawthorne of the Colonial Marine Corps, so if anything, the UNCDF itself provides a handy scapegoat upon which to place the blame for any fallout that may arise from this incident.

The news media and our corporate rivals will, of course, try to paint things differently, because that is exactly what they have already been doing to our current war efforts on Planets EE-L0 and EE-L5. However, as long as we have our legal bases covered, we do not believe that UNASEC will have sufficient grounds to impose any major sanctions over this incident. In fact, if we play our cards right, we may be able to use this "unprovoked attack" as leverage to petition UNASEC for greater concessions, such as additional UNCDF presence, as well as fewer restrictions on our conduct here on Planet EE-L4.

**§9. MISCELLANEOUS ITEMS  
**

We recommend commendations to the following individuals:  
+Pvt. **Pypar** (posthumous): sacrificed his life for those of his comrades and our civilian workers. If we cannot determine a next-of-kin, his compensation package will be redistributed among his unit.  
+Cpl. **Hullen**: directly responsible for terminating WW02; later assisted Pvt. Hamada in providing emergency medical treatment to those WIA.  
+Pvt. **Blaskowitz** &amp; Cpl. **Snow**: rearguard action prevented a flanking maneuver by the attacking forces.  
+Mr. **Digby**: operation of a HULK unit as an improvised weapon bought time for defenders to fall back to a secure position and also directly resulted in the termination of WW01.

**_This report was compiled and completed by Asst-Dir. D. Zimmerman (acting on behalf of Dir. F. Kovacs) and Chief-Eng. K. Trevino, with the consultation and input of Sgt. N. Hawthorne, United Nations Colonial Marine Corps. All information contained within is CONFIDENTIAL until further notice._**


	68. Fred 12

**Medical Center  
Colony of Autumn's Frontier  
Northern Sector aka "The North"  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4**

Many years from now, Fred reasoned, he would probably look back on this event with some sense of dread and trauma. For now though, he was strangely calm and at ease, laying back on his hospital bed, eating ice cream (due to his torso injuries, he'd been told to avoid solid foods for a few days, so he figured why not? Strangely though, the ice cream came off as mercifully _warm_ compared to that cold – _oh God, that horrible cold_ – of Specimen WW04 and her touch...). His left cheek too still stung like hell; Doctor Chakwas had applied a layer of synthetic skin to replace the frostbitten tissue where the ice cold bitch had touched him.

The holovision was on, showing the latest Seacouver Seahawks vs. San Angeles Chargers match – it was a low-quality recording ("only" 2-dimensional and 1080p) of the actual match from 2 days ago that Fred had downloaded via his limited holonet access, and he already knew who won, but he watched it all the same... and took the time to appreciate the fact that in spite of everything, he was still alive. From what he'd heard, a couple others who'd tried taking on a Walker in melee hadn't been so lucky.

"Mr. Kovacs," came the voice of Deanna, the nurse on duty, over the intercom, "you have some visitors."

"Let 'em in, thanks," replied Fred. He turned off the holovision and sat up. Sure enough, seconds later, the door to his room was opened and in strode Daniel, VENI, and Sergeant Hawthorne. "Hey-hey," smiled Fred, "guys, it's good to see y'all."

"Good to see you too, ol' pal," replied Daniel, taking a seat.

"Mr. Kovacs," began the Sarge; he was dressed up and polished in his Marine dress blues, and remained standing. "Good to see you in one piece. When the bloody wights overran our perimeter, we assumed the worst down in the crypt."

"Likewise," remarked Fred, "I'm glad you guys made it outta there. Sounds like you guys were in for a tough one. What happened exactly? Last I remember was that I heard you setting off the Acoustic Defense just before VENI and I got the jump from the 'Walkers down in the Temple."

"It's a long story," sighed Daniel, "one we're honestly still trying to figure out the details of. We were just having dinner and then a thousand zombies show up out of nowhere (well, not really "nowhere" since we know where they came from now, but you get the idea). But point is: we're all still a bit shaken, but we made it through by the skin of our teeth, and thanks in no small part to sarge here..."

"Just doing my job, sir," replied the Sarge, "I only wish I could have done more. We lost some good men out there - Private Pypar, and four of the native workers. We're holding a small memorial service for them tonight."

"They'll be honored," said Fred. He paused. "But, uh, just so we're clear here, it's... no-one's fault, right? I mean, none of us could have predicted something like this could have happened. We took every precaution!"

"Aye," agreed the Sarge solemnly, "but it just wasn't enough. That shackle you and Mr. Zimmerman devised? Seems solid enough in theory, but all the same, they figured a way out of it. And none of us could have foreseen that second site a few miles away. In the end, if we're alive, it's only thanks to the troops for holding firm like they did. Not once did anyone ever break."

"We've decided to give a posthumous award to Private Pypar," added Daniel, "the men are still a bit shaken, this being their first combat and against 'Walkers no less, and we figured this might help ease morale a little. We've also got awards lined up for the living as well – for Corporals Snow and Hullen, for Private Blaskowitz... oh, and one for Digby as well."

"Digby?" inquired Fred, "did he... ? No, he didn't, did he?"

Daniel nodded. "Yes, he sure did. Man, you shoulda been there – it was quite something to see. He took out Specimen WW01 with the plasma-cutter. I shot it all on my MyPhone if you wanna see, though we're not allowed to post anything online anymore."

"Damn. Good job Digby! At least we know plasma works then," muttered Fred. He stole a glance at VENI – the hole in her chest that led to her reactor core was now covered up. He continued: "so let me get this straight then: the guys who attacked our base came from a second site a few miles from Outpost B?"

"Correct, Mr. Kovacs," replied the Sarge, "Grid Reference B8621 to be precise. Recon drones did flyovers throughout all of yesterday. We found the site, but we haven't sent any boots on the ground yet – we're still recouping from the battle. But as far as we can determine, it's no longer thaumically active; anything that was there before was probably toasted by our forces at Outpost B."

"So as far as we know, there could be other sites like this throughout the North?" asked Fred, "and does Winterfell know about this?"

Daniel looked a little uncomfortable. "We radioed Robb yesterday to tell him what happened. He... probably wouldn't have believed us if we hadn't had his brother... sorry, his _cousin_ with us to verify the details."

"Wait, hang on, his _cousin_?" inquired Fred. And then he remembered what he and VENI had discussed just before the attack... "Oh, right! Wait, you didn't tell Jon or Robb about this, did you?"

"No, we did not," said Daniel, "VENI here suggested Ned probably had a good reason for keeping this all hush-hush, so we thought we should find out what it is before we tell Jon and the rest of the family about it."

"Fair enough," replied Fred, "so what exactly did Robb say after you had his 'brother' explain things to him?"

"He certainly wasn't amused, if that's what you're asking," spoke up Hawthorne, "and frankly, I don't blame 'im. 'Walkers haven't been seen south of the Wall for millennia. Our little scuffle might have been an isolated incident, or maybe it wasn't – either way, Robb's now got to deal with another major threat to his kingdom. Poor kid's already got a bloody civil war brewing in the South and now an army of the undead knockin' on his doorstep, and he isn't even the age when I first joined the Corps."

"I can imagine," said Fred, "well, good thing he's got a friend in us. I imagine we'll now have to jack up ammunition production quotas to meet rising local demand."

VENI, who had been silent until now, spoke up: "Director Kovacs, we have come here because Director Teller had requested that we put you in contact with him as soon as you had reached cognizance. I shall inform him immediately."

Honestly, Mr. Teller was one of the last people in the universe that Fred felt like talking to right now, but he supposed he had no choice in the matter. "Okay, patch him through then."

The holoprojector in the room lit up, and the small hospital room, already crowded as it was with 3 people and a Nexus-8, seemed to shrink even more as four life-sized holographic figures materialized in the air. Teller was there, alright, as was Sarah Jane Carson, and two other faces Fred hadn't seen for what seemed like years: James "Django" Lombardi and Akane Saito, the co-directors of their colony over on L-Zero.

"Mr. Kovacs," began Teller, flatly, "it's good to see you up and about. I've notified your parents; I imagine they'll want to speak to you as soon as they get it, which won't be for another few hours according to the timezone. Mr. Belleville too."

_Oh great, Belleville as well_, thought Fred, _fucking asshole_... "Uh, thanks Sir," he said. He turned to face the others. "Sarah! Pleasure seeing you as well. Let me guess: are we planning to... _sue_ the White Walkers? What kind of damages are we expecting? Or do we just want an injunction?"

Their fiery red-haired Southern Belle of a lawyer was usually cheerful and sanguine to match, but today, Ms. Carson was having none of that. "Mr. Kovacs," she began sternly, "our staff was brutally attacked by hostile natives employin' supernatural powers at their disposal. If this scenario sounds familiar, good – because that's exactly what's been goin' on at our L5 and L-Zero colonies. It means that we can petition the UN for greater autonomy and discretion in our dealin's with these natives. We might even be able to stir some popular support fer us back on Earth; I've got some contacts within the Mass Exodus Party who've been campaignin' for our efforts on L-Zero and L5 quite passionately, and they'll do the same fer L4 if we have a valid case. But I needa know first that this really was an "unprovoked attack" (and if it wasn't, I needa know if we could present it as one all the same). And I needa know if this here scuffle was a one-off thang, or if we can expect more trouble from these savages in future."

"So... you're worried I did something stupid down in the Temple of Doom that might've... provoked this whole incident in the first place?" asked Fred.

"In all due fairness, you did try rather stupidly to engage a Cryo-human in melee combat despite yer complete lack of combat experience," chided Sarah, narrowing her eyes.

Fred rolled his eyes. "Something tells me you guys aren't going to let me forget this anytime soon," he muttered. He turned to face the two other holographic figures gathered in the room. "Django! Saito! Good to see you two; it's been a while."

"Likewise man," answered Django, cheerfully, "I'm glad to see you're still in one piece."

"Kovacs-_san_, we wish you a quick recovery," added Saito, bowing her head politely.

"Thanks. How are things over on Big Zero?"

Django sighed. "Things could always be better."

"Django is being modest," added Saito. "The magic levels are so high here that it can cause horrible mutations among some natives we call 'Beastmen', or even create living _demons_. This is a very dangerous world, but we are pushing forward all the same. Captain Müller is an able commander of our UNCDF forces. And the brother of honorable VENI-_sama_ here has been a great boost to our efforts. He is as skilled a diplomat and negotiator as he is a warrior."

Fred stole a glance at VENI. Saito continued: "Our colony is a small city by now, and we have been reaching out to the neighboring states with varying degrees of success. The ones who call themselves 'The Empire' have been the most open to us; they have been willing to trade land, labor, and their expertise in 'magic' in return for our technical assistance and manufactured goods, especially weapons. Some of the others have been open to us as well; we are working with this other nation called 'Kislev' near to us. And there is a land on the other side of this world with people almost exactly alike my native Japan, though these we have yet to contact. And throughout all of this, everyday, our researchers break new ground in the study of thaumaturgy. It is a hard task that lies before us, but we are managing. Though I am sorry to see that your world too may now be afflicted with an enemy possibly as dangerous as those that we have encountered here, and on L5 as well. A pity. I would have hoped that there would be at least one peaceful world where our first wave of colonists could settle. Perhaps we shall have better luck once the mission for L3 departs."

"Yeah, we're waiting until the delegation from the Guanlong Corporation arrives," said Django, "as you know, we're partnering up with them and the Masrani Group too. Oh well. By the way, before I forget, Lil Bran here sends his regards and hopes you get well soon."

"Oh, he's the one wishing me a recovery?" laughed Fred, "cool, hope he's well."

"_Ahem!_" coughed Sarah Carson, politely reminding Fred that she was here for more important matters – smalltalk could wait for later.

Half an hour later, Fred had recounted everything he could remember about that night – well, save for whatever it was that had induced him to pull a reckless stunt like trying to attack a White Walker head on. To be honest, he couldn't really remember nor did he really care to speculate (though if he did, he figured it was probably something to do with some subconscious desire to at least be able to tell the Board later "hey, at least I did _something_!" since it was inevitable that an "expenditure of resources" of this magnitude was sure to get the Board asking questions over what exactly had the management on the ground been doing at the time). When at last he was finished, Teller and Sarah thanked him for his time and logged off.

Daniel and the Sarge too left, gone off to the day's activities – notwithstanding today's memorial service for the fallen, there was still a colony to run and a militia to train, and thanks to that little skirmish at the Outpost, they'd now been given authorization and granted the budget to triple the size of their garrison. But 120 local recruits would be a lot more than 40, and so new leaders would have to be found and cultivated among the men already in training.

But Fred had requested that VENI stay, at least for a few minutes – he had something important to discuss. "VENI, I know I said this before, but thank you," he began, "you've hauled my ass outta the fire (or I guess _ice_ in this case) for, like, the hundredth time now."

"There is no need to express gratitude, Director Kovacs," she replied, "I am merely acting within the perimeters of my directives. However, you will be quite pleased to know that I have honored your request that I relay to Director Belleville your message that he, quote, 'go fuck himself', end-quote."

"What?!" blurted Fred.

"That was a joke," she smiled, "my databanks on organic psychology suggest humor as a possible coping mechanism to facilitate psychological recovery from traumatic experiences."

"Haha, very funny," chided Fred, "you know that the person you're trying to cheer up usually isn't supposed to be, you know, the butt of the joke." He paused. "Anyway, forget that, I've got another matter to discuss. Back in the tomb, when I was lying there on the ground, that stupid ice bitch trying to torture me or turn me into a Wight or whatever it is she was up to... I started thinking about stuff. Like, everything we've been up to ever since we landed on this godforsaken rock."

"Ah, sentimentality – a defining trait of you organics if my psychological database leads me to presume correctly," chided VENI, though Fred could not tell if she was being sarcastic or sincere. She continued: "I presume that this self-reflection of yours has triggered some regret, as is often the case among you organics. And I presume that this regret has motivated you towards some well-intentioned but otherwise poorly-conceived path of atonement for your past actions."

"Well, if ya wanna put it that way, kind of," said Fred, "bout a month ago, back when we were in the capital, I... I put some folks' live in danger. Like, real danger. You know, as in, uh, _death_."

VENI remained impassive. "If you are speaking of Monarch J. Baratheon (technically Lannister), Monarch C. Lannister, and Commander J. Lannister, I must remind you that I personally attended to all three individuals and ensured that all three organics would suffer no further lethal side effects of the respective dosages of TRXY-180 that they ingested."

"What, them? No, of course not!" said Fred adamantly. "No, _that_ I have no regrets at all – that little shithead really had it coming, and we also actually came out of that whole shit show better than before. No, I'm talking about someone _else_ whose now in danger – someone who did nothing, and that I never gave two shits about until now, but someone who's now going to die unless we do something."

"I believe I may know of whom you refer to," replied VENI, "and if it is my assistance in this act of fundamentally self-serving atonement that you seek, I must remind you that it is against Company™ regulations to appropriate Company™ property for personal gain unless it is within the scope of completing one's assigned objectives." Fred looked down, dismayed. VENI, however, smiled slyly and continued: "That said, Director Kovacs, I have concluded that to earn the gratitude of this organic individual of which you speak could conceivably be within the scope of The Company™'s primary objective, which is to strengthen our hold upon this world through any permissible means that may be deemed necessary."

Fred smiled back. "Hell yeah! That's the spirit, VENI! Let's go rescue a princess in distress!"

"Director Kovacs, while I would not exactly frame your intended course of action as such when you present this proposal before the management (I rather that you frame your proposal as an 'acquisition of a political asset'), I nevertheless must admit that you organics - with your often irrational behavior, your delusions of grandeur and self-importance, and your tendency to overdramatize otherwise trivial events - all never cease to amuse me."


	69. Jon 6

**Jon (VI)**

It was a brisk and breezy evening, like most here in the North, but compared to what the men had gone through just two nights before, it was a mercifully warm one by comparison. By the Gods, even without the Wights and the Others, the cold alone could have given anyone nightmares. But whatever the weather may have been like now, it mattered little – Jon and the men he now called his brothers would have come out anyway for Pyp.

"Private Pypar was a good lad," boomed the voice of Sergeant Hawthorne, so loud that he didn't need one of those Sky-People devices called "loudspeakers" to make himself heard by all of the two hundred or so people gathered there, in the fields outside of Autumn's Frontier. All of the remaining White Wolves were present, as were all of the Colonial Marines, the management staff, and several dozen of the quarry and foundry workers – both Northmen and Sky-People alike – all here to pay their respects to the fallen.

Sergeant Hawthorne himself stood at the head of the crowd, looking lordly and noble in his "Marine dress blues" – Jon and the rest of the men were only in their fatigues. Hawthorne continued: "it seems like only yesterday that you all first signed up. It never mattered who you were, or where you came from, we took you in all the same, so long as you were prepared to do the job and always give it your best. Pypar was but a simple farmhand when he came to Autumn's Frontier on that first truck of recruits from Winterfell. But the fact that he so willingly gave his life in the line of duty, to protect all of you from a threat the likes of which no man or woman alive today has ever faced before, shows just how far he came in these last few months... as a friend, as a co-worker, but above all else, as a soldier. And so it shall be that today we honor the memory of Pypar, and of the others as well – of Dale and Darrel, of Merle and Tyrhees."

It was a funeral without a body – from what Jon had heard, the three workers who had been down in the tunnels with Lord Kovacs and the Iron Lady had been turned into Wights, and so had to be burnt up on the spot. The other two bodies too had been cremated soon after the battle, in the event that they too might become Wights (though not before the Sky-People had examined and scanned both bodies to pull any useful information they could from there). Instead of bodies, five of those so-called "photographs" of the Sky-People had been printed out and hung up outside to stand in their place, though the emotional impact these had on the gathered audience was no less poignant. Death was a fact of life here in the Realm, though very few ever actually received a service of this level; to be holding one now for five smallfolk really was a bit of a revelation for the workers, and even more so to see the pictures of the fallen, to see them as they had been when they were alive.

The Sergeant continued: "...they leave behind family, friends, co-workers, and fellow soldiers. But in dark and uncertain times like this, we must remember that they may not be the last. They may only be the first of many. This is why we must always remain vigilant, and stand together more firmly than ever before – for that is when we are at our strongest, and that is why in spite of all odds, in the darkness and cold as we were, surrounded by creatures from the darkest nightmares, we pulled through in the end."

With that, the Sarge then turned to face the Wolves standing in line with each other. Now this was what Jon and his fellow squaddies had been preparing for. "Ready!" came the Sergeant's command. Jon and four other men from his squad stood at attention and slid the bolts on their rifles forward, loading a fresh cartridge into the breech – for today, everyone would be given the privilege of wielding the Enfield.

"Aim!" commanded Hawthorne. The five White Wolves presented their rifles into the air.

"Fire!" came the command.

**_BANG_** reverberated around the grounds as all five rifles were discharged at once such that it almost sounded like a single shot. Jon knew they were only using blanks, but the effect was no less impressive, especially to those who had not been present at the battle to see the action close up for themselves.

The process was repeated two more times; when the three-volley salute was done, the Sarge gave the order to "Present!" at which point Jon and his squadmates presented their rifles in the manner as they had been instructed before. At this point, the colony's loudspeakers came to life with music, except unlike most of the other Sky-People music that Jon had heard before, this song was slower, more somber – and quite lovely in fact. From what he heard, this song was a traditional one the Sky-People commonly used at their funerals.

_"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound  
that saved a wretch like me.  
I once was lost, but now I'm found,  
Was blind but now I see..._

_"Through many dangers, toils, and snares,_  
_I have already come;_  
_'Tis grace has brought me safe thus far_  
_and grace will lead me home."_

Afterwards, the ceremony was over and everyone slowly made their way back to the main colony for dinner. As he and his brothers-in-arms marched off single-file back through the main gates of the outer wall, Jon couldn't help but recall at least part of the Sergeant's speech: _But in dark and uncertain times like this, we must remember that they may not be the last... they may only be the first of many_.

As usual, the soldiers – Marines and Wolves alike – were to gather in their own mess hall, separate from the main one. Dinner tonight would the usual; the one major exception was that in observance of today's memorial, the Sarge had permitted an extra ration of beer tonight, so that libations be poured out in remembrance of the dead. In these last couple of weeks, the colony's brewery had really picked up in quality, and from what Jon had heard, they had now installed devices that could "flash-age" beer, doing in hours what usually took years.

Before heading to dinner though, Jon and the rest of his "Honor Guard" stopped by the armory to hand over their equipment and lock up their rifles for the night. Inside, however, they found someone waiting for them...

"Corporal Snow!" squeaked the boy waiting inside the armory for them. Jon had to rub his eyes to make sure he wasn't simply seeing things. He was probably the fattest person Jon had ever seen in his life, such that he was surprised at all that he could still walk. He was dressed in the clothes of the Sky-People – a clean white shirt and khaki pants with a belt, and a rather awkwardly tied necktie – but it was clear from his accent and the manner in which he carried himself that he was of Westeros... just not the North. Probably the effeminate South most likely.

"And who in the Hells of both the Old Gods and the New might you be?" shot Jon, dismissively.

"Samwell Tarly," squeaked the fat man, holding out a chubby hand, "it's a p-pleasure to meet you. I-I-I'm with the Office of Planning."

"Oh great," muttered Grenn, "so the Skyfolk are now recruitin' us not just for the mines or the mills, but also to sit in their 'offices' and work at their... what do they call them? Their 'computers'."

Samwell didn't seem to get Grenn's sarcasm; instead he beamed with pride and smiled. "Oh yes! It was something about 'equal opportunity' and 'increasing workplace diversity', whatever that means. I'm one of the only ones who can read and write, so I was selected; I'm now interning at the office. I've been assigned to help the Wolves with... uh... 'procurement and logistics'."

"Looks like you've already 'procured' quite a bit," chided Halder.

"Oh yes!" beamed Sam, clearly oblivious to Halder's joke, "the office has ordered that we start stockpiling firearms and ammunition, so they sent me here to inform you all that Ser Hawthorne has determined that you are all ready to be promoted to the Enfield – partly because your Martinis will be needed for the next batch of new recruits we're bringing in."

Jon smiled at the news. Yes, he had already heard the talk going 'round that the White Wolves would be tripled in size. Jon and the rest of the "first class" would of course serve as the leaders and trainers of the new wolf pups. Still, more Enfields for everyone would mean a better fighin' chance if there were any more Wights out there – and it also meant that they had earned the Sergeant's respect, and that alone was an achievement worth celebrating. If only Pyp could be here with them now.

"Cor' blimey, an Enfield for me!" smiled Halder. He glanced at his fellow squaddies; then he winked and turned to face Sam again. "So what will _you_ be carrying then?"

"Wh-what?" spluttered Sam.

"Well, just sayin'" said Halder, "if you're gonna be workin' with us Wolves, that prob'ly means you'll be joinin' us out in the field sometimes."

"I d-d-don't think that was in the j-j-job description," stammered Sam.

"Oh yah," said Grenn, joining in, "tell me, Mr. Tarly, have ya ever faced a White Walker before? In the flesh? Few men have."

"That's enough, you two," cut Jon, who then turned to face Sam again, "after all, we wouldn't want to scare Mr. Tarly here too much before he inevitably joins us on our next mission."

Sam swallowed. "I... I have to go," he muttered quickly and politely, and then left, waddling as fast as his stumpy legs could carry him.

Jon stared after him, then turned back to face the others. "Do you think we were too hard on him? It's only his first day working with the Wolves."

"It's what Pyp would've done," said Halder, remorsefully, "he always liked a nice joke or two. He could mimic a hundred different voices and loved to act. I remember last week when we were watching that Sky-People moving picture, and he told me how he wanted to be a 'moving picture star'... like Ser Graham Chapman, or Ser Michael Palin, or Lord John Cleese." He sighed.

"He gave his life so we could live ours," said Grenn, "let's go honor him by doin' just that. Here's to Pyp!"

"Here here!" cried Jon and the others in response.


	70. The Kingspost 1

**THE KINGSPOST **  
_Ye Moste Reliable And Accurate Source o' News In Yon Seven Kingdoms!_  
Volume 1 – Issue 1 – Auguste 20th, 298 A.C. – 4 Copper Groats

**King's Landing Launches First "Newspaper", ****_The Kingspost_**

K.L. - With great fanfare, His Grace King Robert o' House Baratheon, First o' his Name, King o' The Andals, The Rhoynar, and The First Men, Lord o' The Seven Kingdoms and Protector o' The Realm, today presideth over the auspicious occasion o' ye launching o' the Realm's first regular news publication, that o' _The Kingspost_! With a weekly distribution o' one thousand copies, it shalt be ye noble goal o' _The Kingspost_ to keepeth thy population o' thy capital well informed of ye daily happenings, both within ye capital, and across all yon Seven Kingdoms (well, at least among ye 1% o' thy population who hath be literate!).

Verily, a most generous gift hath been made to ye Crowne by the venerable Sky-People, that o' a device called a "printing presse", that can copy out a hundred, nay, a thousand exact copies o' a single parchment in yon time that a scribe can produceth but one. This most excellent gift hath been retaineth by the Crowne and entrusteth to ye care o' House Edgerton for safekeeping. It is I, Lord Phineas Edgerton, who hath now been giveth ye noble office of "Editor-in-Chief" of _The Kingspost_, and it shall be my great honor to keep thy people informed o' ye daily happenings of thy Realm in a most reliable and honest and expedient manner!

**King's Landing City Watch To Be Upgraded**

His Lordship Eddard o' House Stark, Hand o' The King and Warden o' The North, today announced a grand plan to reform and reorganize thy city's humble Goldcloaks into an "effective and modern military force", using those mighty bannermen of the Sky-People as a model. Those amongst thou who hath been at ye Hand's Tourney will no doubt remember what fate a single Sky-Woman warrior was able to mete upon the dreaded Mountaine o' House Clegane!

When interviewed, Lord Stark hath stated that he did not know if all thy bannermen could be trained in the same skills and prowess o' Lady Vaenya o' The Company, but nonetheless hath opined that the Watch would become a "professional army", and that ye Goldcloaks are now accepting new recruits. Newly accepted recruits can expect to receiveth a reliable daily wage and become trained in ye use o' a "Sky-People weapon" o' some kinde. Thou shalt see page 2 for details on how thou can enlisteth to becometh a noble brother o' ye new Watch!

**Tyrion Lannister Sworn In As New Master Of Coin****  
**  
Amidst greate fanfare, the Imp Tyrion Lannister, the Halfman o' Casterly Rock, was formally sworne in as the newe Master Of Coin on His Grace The King's Small Council, following the recent disappearance of former Master Of Coin Lord Petyr of the House Baelish. Tyrion hath promised a return to financial stability and accountability for ye Realm, and citeth his knowledge in ye financial matters o' Casterly Rock as ye justification. But caneth thou really trusteth ye Imp in this new official capacity? Yon full story shalt be foundeth on Page 3.

**Local: Lady Vaenya "The Iron Lady" Crowned "Person O' The Year"****  
**  
Popularity o' the Sky-People noblewoman named "Lady Vaenya of The Company", but more commonly known as "The Iron Lady", hath reacheth a fever pitch in many parts o' ye capital. Last market-day, a crowd o' young women and ladies, many o' them styling themselves, their vestments, their hairstyles, and behavior after the Iron Lady, gathered at ye Dragonpit Square to have Lady Vaenya declared to be "Person o' the Year".

Indeed, Lady Vaenya hath becometh the talk o' the town for weeks after her heroic battle against ye dreaded Mountain o' House Clegane that hath earned her the honor of being ye first woman to ever win the first place in a tourney ever, and shortly thereafter singlehandedly hath saveth ye life o' His Grace, the Crown Prince Joffrey of House Baratheon, Her Grace the Queen Cersei of House Lannister, and Ser Jaime "The Kingslayer" of House Lannister.

Of course, yon recent upsurge in this so-called "feminism" and resultant women that hath refuseth to comply with ye proper place of a woman in yon household hath negatively affected ye traditional family structure! Art thou to tolerate this mass disobedience? Gossip hath be on Page 3.

**Gossip: Who Hath Really Been Behindeth Ye Purple Post-Tourney Feast? Ye Truth Be Out There... ****  
**  
Could ye poisoning really hath been the work of ye exiled Lord Petyr Baelish, former Master Of Coin? Could it hath been the work o' loyalists to the old reign o' House Targaryen? Or hath it been someone else entirely? New evidence hath cometh to light that may shock and surpriseth thou! Thou shalt turn to Page 4 for yon full story.

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* * *

"Well?" asked Olyvar, taking a seat at the desk and pouring himself a glass of wine by the candlelight. It was dark and damp down here in their refuge, and the man sitting opposite him wore a black leather hood that kept most of his face in darkness. But he could nonetheless make out the twisted smile in the candlelight as his master read over and over the parchment in his hands. Olyvar continued: "so what do you make of it, m'lord? This... what is the Sky-People's word again? 'Tabloid journalism'..."

"Excellent," smiled Lord Petyr Baelish, former Master Of Coin, now Fugitive From The Law, reduced to hiding, but not quite out of the Game just yet. "I knew I could count on Lord Edgerton to never let us down... though I suppose I should 'politely' remind him not to be too eager in his sensationalism; I imagine it might not take too long before Ned or Tyrion or someone else figures out his connection to our cause. Either way, we will have to make our next move soon enough." He paused. "Oh, and one more thing, Olyvar."

"Yes, m'lord?" replied his protege.

"_Cyalaes of Myr's Legendary Snake Oil_?"

"It was Lord Edgerton's idea that we could make a few extra Gold Dragons on the side off of this 'advertising' business. As it is, this Myrish merchant was willing to also throw in a free sample if you..."

"I would rather not know the details, thank you very much," snapped Littlefinger.

* * *

_**Footnotes:**_

_1\. In this update, we introduce a new plot framing device, The Kingspost, Westeros' first newspaper! Of course, it's also being run by someone who is secretly in cahoots with a certain former disgraced Master Of Coin... As you may have noticed by now, this universe seems to have an extremely negative, cynical, and sarcastic view towards the news media in general. _

_2\. This article is written in faux "Ye Olde Butcherede Englishe" in order to make fun of Old Medieval English. Earlier, this story featured a town crier using faux Olde Englishe, so I figured why not have the Realm's first generation of yellow journalism written like that as well?_


	71. The Mayor Of Wintertown 2

**The Mayor Of Winter Town (II)**

"...And whatever happens, remember this above all: you are the future. The fate of not only your families and houses, but the North as a whole rests in your hands, and in the skills and knowledge you will gain while enrolled here."

These were the words of Lord Robb Stark that reverberated throughout the inner bailey of Winterfell, where at that moment, the Young Wolf stood, addressing a gathered audience of nearly five hundred people. It was a mixed lot – dignitaries and representatives of most of the noble houses of the North, his own family and Winterfell household, top officers and commander of the First Army, Maester Jeremy and his newly arrived acolytes from Oldtown, and some of Winter Town's new breed of movers and shakers... like Lord Mayor Daryl Mollen and his lady wife Aelyzabeth.

But the real audience to whom these words were directed to today were the fifty or so young boys and girls, and their fifty retainers, who collectively embodied the next generation of the North's ruling classes. Robb took a moment to let his words sink into the gathered spectators, and proceeded to bring his address to its conclusion: "...And thus, with that, it is with greatest pleasure that I hereby declare _**The Academy Of The North**_ to be officially open. May the Old Gods and the New smile down upon us this day, and upon you for this great journey that now lies before you."

Robb was met with a great rousing cheer from the gathered spectators. Daryl admitted that it all made for quite a glorious sight. The Broken Tower has been repaired and restored, nay, improved, what with the new paint and woodwork and glass windows even, thanks to their dealings with the Sky-People. The idea had been at least partly that of Lady Catelyn, and Daryl suspected that this was some kind of attempt to cope with what had happened to her Brandon there, by transforming it completely into something else. Last he had heard, Brandon was doing well, but would still be yet a few months before he finally returned. A pity, he thought, for young Brandon would most certainly have enjoyed to be among the students gathered here.

He took a moment to survey the incoming class again. The attendance included, but was not limited to, the following: there was Wylla Manderly of course, dressed in a blue dress that bore the merman of White Harbor; her long blond hair tied in a braid would have been beautiful had she not opted to dye it a garish green. She was accompanied here today by a couple bannermen of House Manderly, as well as her father Ser Wylis and her uncle Ser Wendel; the former was already at Winterfell serving in the First Army, while the latter had come up White Knife with Wylla just the day before aboard that new toy of Lord Wyman's, the "Little Merman."

Next to the White Harbor delegation were the Karstarks: young Alys Karstark, a maid of three-and-ten, accompanied by her lord father Rickard, who had also been here already to participate in the creation of the First Army. Next to them came the Mormonts of Bear Island: Lyra Mormont, ten years of age, was to be enrolled, but for today, her elder sister Lady Dacey Mormont had come to see her off. Behind them sat little Beth Cassel and her father Ser Rodrik – they were still visibly upset about what had happened to Jory down in the capital.

The Crannogmen of the Neck were also represented here today, with Lord Howland Reed's children Meera and Jojen present. Next to them sat another pair of siblings enrolled in the school, Ethan and Talia Forrester, and next to them sat Cley Cerwyn. And right next to Daryl and his wife sat their two children who would also be attending the Academy, their son Peytr, and their daughter Wanda. Their youngest, Clynton, remained at home; it would be a few years yet before he too would join the Academy.

And then, of course, seated at the very back but clearly visible to all by the garish pink he and his retainers wore, was Ramsay Snow, the Bastard of the Dreadfort. Daryl couldn't help but cringe inside just seeing him. He knew, of course, that Robb had a very good reason for extending the invitation to him as well – the Dreadfort was, after all, the third largest contributor to the First Army of the North after only Winterfell and White Harbor, and Robb had felt that for the bastard not to have received an invite would only have ticked off Lord Roose. Still, though, Daryl had wisely suggested that perhaps each of the students be accompanied by a "personal attendant" from their household (in other words, a _bodyguard_). Daryl was still uncomfortable with the idea of his children being schooled in the same classroom as that bastard, but at least he took comfort knowing that they would be coming home every day after school.

Daryl also noted with some interest the fact that roughly two-thirds of the students enrolling in the Academy's first class were girls, and speculated as to just why this is the case. He figured that this was a side-effect that most (but not all) Northern Lords valued their sons (and therefore their _heirs_) over their daughters, and thus preferred to keep their sons at home to continue to learn the art of lordship and to train in the arts of war. Subconsciously, perhaps many of them thought that this new school of Lord Robb's was better fit for teaching the womanly arts. Daryl, of course, thought this to be a huge mistake: education and skill with numbers, he realized, and not prowess on the battlefield, will become the mark of the leadership of "the New North".

It was that which also made him realize (and with some minor discomfort, if he was being honest) the great change that was coming to the structure of gender dynamics here in the North. Why, his own wife Lady Aelyzabeth had, as of late, become one of the most prominent socialites in the growing Winter Town social scene. _And all thanks to that 'sewing machine' and that 'clothes washer' and all those other Sky-People toys I had bought for her_, he mused. Yes, it was true that they had more time together these days. He loved his dear wife Liz, loved her and their children too with all the world. But he would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that he was at least a tiny bit uncomfortable with the big social changes he could see coming to the North, thanks to his avid study of the Sky-People and their ways. He figured that probably made him a hypocrite in some ways – a champion of one form of social change and mobility, but not of another. Perhaps... but oh well, enough of all this long-term thinking for now.

Afterwards, when the opening ceremony was concluded, the new initiates were shown to their dormitories to settle in and prepare for tonight's reception at the Great Hall of Winterfell. Daryl couldn't help but notice that those sorts of events had begun to occur with greater frequency, though he should not have been surprised, given the sudden inflow of gold and goods into Winterfell's coffers that the Sky-People had brought, and the huge number of traders from elsewhere, from Braavos and beyond, who had followed in their wake. He was most looking forward to this feast, and had come to Winterfell today dressed in his finest: inspired by the Sky-People, he had had Liz stitch for him a green velvet waistcoat emblazoned with the snowy pine of House Mollen, that he wore atop his shirt and cravat. Atop this, he wore a green longcoat, and finally, his newest acquisition, that article of headwear that the Sky-People called a "top hat". Daryl was dressed to impress, if he didn't say so himself.

But before festivities could begin, however, he knew that there was some other urgent business that he had been summoned here to Winterfell for. And so, leaving his wife Liz with their children, he made his way deep into Winterfell's main keep, and up the stairs to Lord Robb's office. There, he was received by his cousin, Lieutenant-Colonel Hallis Mollen, who led him inside, where Lord Robb was seated together with Maesters Luwin and Jeremy. Daryl found it strange that no other Northern lords were present, though he suspected he was about to find out why.

"Not bad, I hope, Lord-Mayor Mollen," spoke up the Young Wolf, "this concept of an 'Academy' must still be quite the alien one to many of those attending."

"My liege, you spoke well today, but the real test shall be the next month or so," replied Daryl, "there is, however, that... _other matter_ you wished to speak of... as in... _the Others_, correct?"

"Yes," replied Robb simply. He took his seat at the head of the table. "Funny, isn't it? A few months ago, just before the Sky-People arrived (Gods, feels like forever ago, doesn't it?)... the day we found the direwolf pups, in fact..." he reached down to pet Grey Wind behind the ears before he continued, "...on that day, my Lord Father executed a deserter of the Night's Watch."

Daryl could almost picture the scene in his head: Ol' Ned Stark, stoic and stalwart as always, standing amongst some ancient stone circle of the First Men, muttering something about how "the Man who passes the judgment must always swing the blade" and all that entailed. He honestly had to wonder sometimes how the old ways could expect to survive in this new era of change and "modernization"...

The Young Wolf coninued: "Poor fellow had been driven mad with fear, had claimed that he had seen the White Walkers themselves with his own eyes. We had dismissed him at first... and yet, it was on that very day itself that we found the direwolves – like the Others, something no living soul had seen in the North for years beyond count. And then, only a month or so later, lo and behold, the Sky-People themselves came to our shores."

"A contrived coincidence, My Lord?" asked Daryl.

"I would like to think that the Old Gods themselves had a hand in our fate," mused Robb. He paused... "but that is immaterial. More important is what is to be done about this little incident."

"If the reports are true, then Lord Kovacs and Zimmerman were quite sure that they had disposed of every last Wight they had found at this... 'Outpost B' of theirs," spoke up Maester Jeremy.

"True, they were," agreed Robb, "but here's the rub: what if this tomb they discovered is only the first of many? What if there are others like it throughout the North? And what if there really are more of them beyond the Wall as well? _Winter is Coming_, after all. When I first created the First Army of the North, I never imagined we could be facing the exact same creatures Old Nan's tales used to give me nightmares about."

Daryl could feel a chill down his spine. Robb was right - everyone in the North knew the old tales: about the dreaded Others, who had scoured the land back in the Long Night, swarms of Wights and Ice Spiders and other ghastly nightmares at their command. Of course, everyone took these to be little more than tales made up to scare naughty children, so to find out now that a thousand of these creatures had just appeared out of nowhere and not too far from here no less... it was a lot to take in. But he steeled himself all the same, and spoke: "My Lord, perhaps that may be the case, perhaps not, but we shall be prepared to meet them all the same. The Sky-People were able to defeat one host with... how many again? Only a few dead and wounded amongst their own, thanks to their fire-arms and their falcon-ships, and with their assistance, we shall eliminate any others that we may find."

"My feeling exactly," said Robb, though not quite in his usual confident manner. Daryl could see that Robb had perhaps become uncomfortable with the realization of just how much he had become reliant on the foreigners for everything. "But if and when war comes to the South," he continued. "we will have no choice but to split the First Army Of The North in two – I will take the bulk of our forces south to assist my lord father and join with the forces he is raising in the capital. The rest shall remain in reserve here in Winterfell, to ensure our continued protection against any further attacks – by the Others, by the Wildlings, and so forth. And I shall entrust these men to _your_ command. I know you are not a warrior, but you are a thinker and an administrator if I have ever seen one, and warfare of the future will be defined as such."

Daryl was speechless for a moment. On one hand, to command an army of loyal bannermen was something he had always dreamed and aspired to as a young boy, but never could have imagined possible because he was outside the primary line of House Mollen's primogeniture. But on the other hand, was he really up to the task? Especially now, with a whole town to administer? And with a family of his own as well? But he knew too that the Young Wolf must have had very good reasons for entrusting the safety of Winterfell in his hands. "This is a great honor, my Lord," he replied, "but I must ask: is there no chance for peace? Surely if the White Walkers are to return... why, the safety of all the Realm would be at risk, the Lannisters included! Surely Tywin would be a fool to continue pursuing this conflict in light of a greater threat?"

"I would not count so much on the Lannisters taking our word at face value," replied Robb, glumly, "they are already in denial about the facts of that vile attack their treacherous Kingslayer made upon my Lord Father, so I do not expect them to start believing us on something like this. And even if they did, what interest do they have in working with us too soon? When Winter comes, they will march their forces up to the Neck and wait, and when we and the Others have bled each other to ruin, they will simply sweep up whatever else remains. Perhaps they will even parade themselves as liberators riding to the aid of anyone who is left alive."

When no one else spoke for a few minutes, Robb turned to face Daryl's cousin Hallis and spoke: "a few days from now, I will send the First Army's Corps of Engineers south to Moat Cailin under your command, Lieutenant-Colonel. Your task shall be to repair and restore the defenses there, to shore up the causeways, and to garrison there and await further instructions. If and when we are to march south, it is absolutely vital that we hold the Neck."

"Yes, My Lord," nodded Hallis in agreement.

"Will the Lannisters not take this as an act of aggression?" asked Daryl.

"Perhaps they shall," said Robb. He sighed. "But at this point, everything we do is an act of aggression in Tywin's eyes. We arm our ships for defense against piracy? Northern aggression. We train our bannermen in the use of fire-arm and cannon for defense against Wildlings and Others? Northern aggression. We develop our production capabilities of steel and coal? Northern aggression. I send ten newly trained rifle-men to the capital to protect my Lord Father and my sisters, to replace Jory and the others slain by the lions' own hands? Northern Aggression. No, the fact of the matter is that Tywin will never accept a world where the Westerlands are not first among nations, and everything we do to increase our wealth and our prosperity is just further justification in his eyes to lay to ruin all that we have built for ourselves. If peace was really what the Lions desired... they would never have pushed my brother Bran out of _that_ window."

As he spoke these last words, the Young Wolf stood up and took a moment to look outside the windows of his office... and to gaze upon the building that had once been the Broken Tower and the source of all their woe and misery, now fully transformed into the Academy Of The North. Secretly, Daryl hoped that if anything, it was a symbol of how something new could always arise out of the ashes of the old.


	72. Daenerys 1

**Daenerys (I)**

The great fire roared and roared in the center of the hall, flames leaping and licking everywhere. Great slabs of meat hung above it, roasting and charring every so slightly, but it was the flames beneath them, that was the real object of Daenerys' attention, her eyes fixated on the dance of light and warmth and color as if it aroused something within her...

"Moon Of My Life," boomed a deep and commanding voice, calling her closer in the guttural and coarse language of the Dothraki. Dany looked to the man seated beside her – none other than the great Khal Drogo, looking resplendent tonight as he wore an elaborate feathered headdress atop his already lengthy hair that grew down to his thighs, tied in a single braid and festooned with little brass bells. It was a sign of a powerful leader who had never once lost a battle.

The great hall of the Khal's manse was not quite a Pentoshi palace, but it was as impressive a structure as any you could find here in Vaes Dothrak, amongst the teepees, wigwams, log halls, and yurts of the Dothraki. And at this moment, inside this great hall of the Khal, a couple hundred people gathered to celebrate this elaborate feast that the Khal had decided to throw.

To eat there was the usual: horse steaks, horse sausages, horse chops, horse ribs, horse pie, horse radish, horse stew, horse burgers with a side of horse-fries, horse cream for dessert ... there was even a dish introduced to Vaes Dothrak by traders from far Yi-Ti called "Horsushi", which was bits of raw horse wrapped in rice and dried pondweed – it was supposed to be eaten with two wooden sticks, but the Dothraki never saw the point and just used their hands. Dany never ceased to be impressed with the endless creativity of the Dothraki in coming up with new recipes mostly derived off of horse.

All in all, it was quite the feast; Daenerys could see Dothraki men and women making the beast with two backs all over the hall, mating out in the open with hardly a second thought. At least two young men had already been killed at this feast ... which was good because it meant that only one more death was needed to occur tonight in order for this feast to not be considered "a boring affair" by Dothraki standards.

"This feast is great!" roared one of the young warriors by the name of Tanto, in the Dothraki language, as he, ahem, was in the process of _imposing himself_ upon the backside of a serving girl. He continued: "but tell me: what is best in life?"

Another young warrior, named Cohen, replied: "why, the open steppe, fleet horse, falcon at your wrist, and the wind in your hair."

"Wrong!" yelled Cohollo, one of the _Khal's_ Blood-riders and a respected warrior of the _Khalassar_ in his own right. He turned to face where Drogo and Dany sat. "Great Khal, what is best in life?"

Drogo smiled and roared his answer: "to crush your enemies! To see them driven before you! And to hear the lamentation of their women!" A raucous applause and approval could be heard echoing throughout the hall in agreement.

Dany took a moment to look away from her darling Sun And Stars, and glanced over to her right. Sure enough, seated there, were two other people who had for these last few months been the only connection she had ever had to her fabled native land across the Narrow Sea. They were conversing away in the Common Tongue.

"Cool party, I suppose. When I have the Iron Throne, I shall hold feasts and orgies a _thousand_ times this grand," muttered Viserys Targaryen, the Beggar King and the Last Dragon, as he placed his lips over the business end of a Dothraki Peace Pipe and inhaled deeply. He coughed, breathing smoke and ashes everywhere, and his eyes were red. "Seven Hells, that is a rather dank and odorous substance!" he wheezed and coughed again, and then took another drag.

"Traders from as far as Asshai come to Vaes Dothrak to trade their wares and pay their respects to the Khal," explained Ser Jorah Mormont calmly as he half-politely/half-forcefully took the pipe from Viserys' hands. "Though this one I believe to be a fine pipe weed of Volantene vintage," he explained as he, unlike Viserys, took only a small and brief drag on the pipe, patiently enjoying the taste and texture in his mouth – this was the proper way to smoke a Dothraki pipe. "Ah, that hits the spot! But with regards to your Grace's prior point, yes, the Khal thought it would not be a bad idea to celebrate the fifth month of your sister's pregnancy."

"Oh wonderful," sneered Viserys, snatching the pipe back, "only four more months until I finally get my thrice-Gods-forsaken army of horse-fuckers."

Jorah willfully ignored Viserys' indignation and continued: "if all goes well, your Grace, they'll make your sister undergo the Stallion Heart ceremony next month."

"Stallion... what?" coughed the Beggar King after another long and hearty drag on the pipe.

"It is a Dothraki tradition," replied Ser Jorah. "Pregnant mothers need to eat a whole raw stallion heart; if they cannot consume the entire heart in one sitting, without choking on the blood or retching up the flesh, superstition dictates that the child will grow weak and deformed ... possibly even female. And if the expectant mother can consume the heart, well, the _Dosh Khaleen_ will probably declare that she'll give birth to the '_Stallion That Mounts The World_' or some pretentious and self-important messianic title like that."

"Excuse me?" wheezed Viserys.

"Every Khal wants the _Dosh Khaleen_ to proclaim their son to be the next prophesied '_Stallion Who Mounts The World_', the _Khal of Khals_, the greatest Dothraki who will ever live. Of course, many sons claim to be as such but few ever end up living up to that promise. In the end, prophecies are just words, and words are wind – they can be truths or untruths; it is the people who believe them that really give them form and impact. Power ultimately resides where men believe it does."

"Wise words, Ser Jorah," replied the Last Dragon, "where did you learn them?"

"Oh, I learnt that from a ... uh ... _a friend_," replied the Bear Knight.

"And what if the Khal's child actually ends up born a _girl_?" chided Viserys, "will she be the ... _the Bitch Who Mounts The World_?"

"Actually, a female horse is a _mare_," corrected Ser Jorah, "I thought you would have learned that much by now, living with the Dothraki these last few months ... Your Grace." He paused. "Though that is a good question ... but one that is probably best not to ask our hosts." He looked up at Dany and realized that she had been listening in all along. "Sorry, m'lady," he quickly muttered and looked away.

Dany rolled her eyes ... it was then that she noticed two new figures she had never seen before entering the hall, striding right up to the fire...

"Gooooooooooood evening, ladies and gentlemen!" came the voice of one of these new arrivals, a man, getting the attention of all. Dany realized he was speaking the Common Tongue. "We are tonight's entertainment!"

Dany finally got a good look at these strangers, illuminated by the bright orange glow of the flames. They were a man and a woman, and they looked to be of Andal stock. The woman, the taller and more imposing of the two, was quite an impressive sight: tall and strong yet graceful and elegant, almost inhumanly so, in her movements. Her hair was tied back in a single braid, and she wore a kind of metal plate and a cape that looked like the armor of Ser Jorah's, only stamped with a strange spiral sigil across the front.

The man next to her was not quite so impressive as she, but all the same, he had a boyish charm to him; he wore a red leather jacket of some kind and a leather bag that hung from one shoulder. The way he walked suggested that he had suffered an injury of some type recently, and the patches and repair stitches on the front of his jacket seemed to indicate a stabbing wound to the belly. Daenerys saw him quickly mutter to the woman, in the Common Tongue: "remember, Veni, just as we rehearsed. I guess it's time to see if this English-Dothraki translation program works."

The woman brushed him aside and, addressing the Khal directly, spoke clearly and loudly in the Dothraki language: "Your Greatness, _Khal_ Drogo of the Dothraki Faction, I am Lady Vaenya of the Most Noble And Esteemed Company from beyond the Sunset Sea. And this individual is Sir Fraederyk of the Noble House of Novak, my squire and a fool in the court of Lord Jonathan of House Teller. We have traveled many miles beyond your wildest visions to come to your encampment and receive your personal audience."

Drogo had little patience for strangers inviting themselves to his feasts, but he greeted them all the same. "And what is it you seek?," he boomed, "speak! Or I shall have my blood-riders kindly and swiftly dispose of you in a bloodless fashion!" In response, the other warriors gathered in the hall hooted and roared in agreement with their Khal.

The woman, however, remained impassive: "we thank you for your patience in hearing our request. What we seek is simple: we have come here to relinquish your hold upon Monarchs Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen, and to return these individuals to their native land of Westeros."

A great murmur arose from all gathered. Daenerys herself too was taken aback by this announcement of their intent.

"What in Seven Hells is she saying?" shot Viserys, "and what is everyone getting so worked up about?"

"She claims to be a knight from Westeros," replied Ser Jorah, translating the woman's words into the Common Tongue for his benefit. "She claims that she will take you and your sister ... uh ... home."

"Ah, excellent!" smiled Viserys, somewhat lightheadedly from the effects of the Volantene pipe weed, "a Targaryen loyalist! Yay! I knew the people still hope and pray for my triumphant return!"

"She could be an agent of King Robert..." cautioned Ser Jorah.

"Oh she is most certainly not! Trust me, I would know!" insisted Viserys, cutting him off. "Why, I could tell an agent of the Usurper if he were sitting right in front of my very own eyes!" Jorah rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Throughout all of this, the mysterious woman continued to speak: "in particular, we have come to free Monarch D. Targaryen from an involuntary marriage that was imposed upon her against her will. Where we come from, for a thirteen year old preadolescent girl to have imposed upon her an arranged marriage, to a middle-aged warlord and leader of a rogue nation that does not adhere to the norms of international law and human rights, is an act that the more civilized nations of our world would attribute to, for example, _Boko Haram_, or to the _Islamic State of Mars_."

"And who, I demand to know, is this 'Boko Haram' of which you speak that I should not wish myself to be their equal?" spat the Khal, the rising anger in his voice audible to all.

"It is relevant that you ask," replied Lady Vaenya, "Boko Haram (whose name is approximately translated from Arabic to mean _'Western Education is Forbidden_' or '_Westernization is Sin_', but whose official name in Arabic means '_Group Of The People Of Sunnah For Preaching And Jihad_') was a terrorist organization back on our world that used to exist approximately one hundred years ago, and were responsible for tens of thousands of killings of innocent civilians, brutal attacks on population centers, and the systematic abduction of thousands of young men and women, mainly to be raped, sold into slavery, or forced marriages at ages as young as nine."

Drogo laughed mockingly. "I see no problem with this _Boko Haram_ of yours," he retorted, dismissively, "they sound like they would make good Dothraki!" To be honest, Dany herself too was surprised by this idea that there were realms out there where an arranged marriage upon a maid of three-and-ten was considered shocking.

"Except that Boko Haram was eventually exterminated," added the Lady, defiantly, "by the combined efforts of more civilized nations whose economies did not subsist off of thievery and the systematic abuse of human rights."

Drogo rose to his feet, livid: "and now you wish to threaten me? To bring death and ruin upon _Khalassar_ if I do not hand over _Khaleesi_?"

Lady Vaenya, remaining calm, replied: "we desire that this exchange be conducted in a peaceful manner with no further violence, seeing as the sacred laws of your city do forbid the 'spilling of blood' within its municipal area. Relinquish your _Khaleesi_ and your Beggar King to our custody, and we will ensure that they and your unborn offspring will enjoy long, healthy, and prosperous lives under our care. We are also prepared to compensate you financially for your troubles, and to provide developmental assistance to your _Khalassar_ for your eventual resettlement and integration into the rest of the global economy. As it currently stands, your culture's unproductive, inefficient, and (some would say) _savage_ way of life is incompatible with the inevitable order and civilization that is coming to this continent."

"_Keep your wretched gifts!_ I will not part with the Moon Of My Life!" roared Drogo, "and when your order and civilization comes, I shall burn and pillage it to the ground! I shall laugh to the screams of your men as we put them to the sword, and the moans and grunts of your women as we put them to a different kind of sword!"

"Looks like Plan B then..." muttered the fool in the Common Tongue.

"Very well then," spoke the Lady, "in which case, having read up on your culture and your people's belief in physical violence as a legitimate means of dispute resolution, I would like to challenge you to an honor duel. Should you accept, the victor shall walk away with a prize of their choosing. I choose your _Khaleesi_."

"My Sun and Stars!" cried Dany to her husband, "I implore you, there must be a peaceful solution! Let me talk to these foreigners! I will explain to her ..."

"Sssshhhh" replied Drogo, gently placing his hand over her mouth, reassuring her and yet at the same time telling her to shut up, "Moon of My Life, worry yourself not, for this fight is mine to win. I have never been defeated before; this puny woman and her fool will not have it their way!"

_She's not puny at all_, thought Dany.

The Khal turned back to face his challenger: "very well, Little Woman! I accept your offer of battle! We shall fight tomorrow at sunrise, outside the gates of Vaes Dothrak, where the use of steel is not forbidden! You win, you shall have Khaleesi! But I win, I shall take _your fool_ to be my lapdog!"

"Thank you, noble Khal, that is a most fair and agreeable wager," replied Lady Vaenya. And with that, she and her squire turned and strode back out of the hall, many a Dothraki reveler glaring after them as they left. No sooner were they gone, when a great clamor broke out throughout the hall.

Tanto was the first to speak out to the Khal: "this wretched dog of a woman speaks with a forked tongue and spits upon us all! Oh, I beg of you, great Khal, let me have the honor to fight her in your name! I shall happily slit her throat, and that of her fool too!"

"Nay! Let me fight for you, great Khal!" roared Jhaqo, "I shall defeat them, but spare their miserable lives, so that they may serve as my bedmates! Both of them!"

Drogo, however, raised his hand; the hall fell silent, and he spoke: "No! None else shall harm these Andals, for they are mine and mine alone! I shall kill the woman myself tomorrow, with my own hands, and keep her fool as a gift for Khaleesi! And let it be known to all what Khal Drogo, Son of Khal Bharbo, does to those who try to take from him the Moon of his Life!"

* * *

_**Footnotes**:_

_In the original story thread on the other website, readers complained about (1) why is Fred doing this (2) why is The Company™ enabling him, and (3) why is VENI okay with it. Before my comments section inevitably gets flooded with similar complaints, I felt it appropriate to address these issues. As this chapter is narrated from Daenerys' point-of-view, we're not supposed to know any of the above, BUT it will be explained in Fred's POVs._


	73. Barristan 2

**Barristan (II)**

**_BANG! _**

The sudden crash like thunder echoed throughout the trees and hills and streams of the Kingswood.

"Ha-HA!" cried the King like a petulant child as he discharged another bolt from this latest toy of his – a gift from the Sky-People, that His Grace had so affectionately taken to calling his "Royal Boomstick". He roared again: "This 'SHOT-GONNE', I LIKE it! ANOTHER!"

"Y-Y-Yes, Your Grace," muttered Lancel Lannister as he reached into the wooden box and retrieved another one of those small, red, ceramic disks that had come with the "shot-gonne". Lancel threw it into the air.

**_BANG!_** roared the metal beast as it kicked back in King Robert's hands, but the Great Stag held it firmly under his control. The clay disc shattered in mid-air.

Ser Barristan watched the entire scene unfold with both awe and trepidation. He had gone on numerous hunting excursions over the years, both with King Robert and with his predecessors of the old Targaryen line as well... even Prince Rhaegar, though he never dare bring that up in front of Robert. But this hunting trip promised to be different. In all his years in the Kingsguard, serving under three diffferent monarchs, fighting back in the War Of The Ninepenny Kings, or rescuing the Mad King himself back during the Defiance Of Duskendale, he had never seen anything quite like this "shot-gonne". The Falcon-ship was one thing, and Lady Venya something else, but the real wonder of this weapon was that, for the first time ever, the raw destructive power of the Sky-People lay in their own hands.

But he had to admit he was secretly terrified as well. For all he knew, he was living through the twilight days of valor and chivalry. A sword or even a bow in the hands of warrior, from the richest knight down to the lowliest peasant levy, always demanded upon its user some small measure of skill and discipline, and years training and experience to fully master it. But these "gonnes", these cold, lifeless, metal tubes of death... they were different. Any man or woman or even a child could simply pick up one, point it, and shoot, and a hundred yards away, the bolt would still penetrate even the thickest knightly plate. With a "gonne" in his hands, the humblest smallfolk could threaten even the mightiest knight in all the land... perhaps even the King himself.

And now King's Landing was equipping an entire army of them. Over the last three weeks, and upon the order of both King Robert and his Hand Lord Stark, the King's Landing City Watch was to be reorganized, reformed, expanded by about another thousand members, and all were to be retrained in the use of these new "fire-arms" that were to be purchased in bulk from the Sky-People. Ser Barristan knew not from where the money to finance all of this was coming from – the late and disgraced Master Of Coin had left the Realm's finances in a bit of a mess, and even with the Halfman in his place, who seemed as fit as anyone for the job, putting the Realm's coin back on track looked to be no mean feat.

All the same, the project had pushed ahead, and the first shipment of these so-called rifles had arrived last week aboard one of those flying falcon-ships – about a thousand of them packed into wooden crates, as well as additional crates containing new uniforms, new tools, and some that even bore the markings of black lettering upon their sides that read "7.62mm". And then, as a "complimentary gift", the Sky-People had included two other devices as well: one was a so-called "printing press", that could copy a thousand manuscripts in the time that a single scribe could copy one by hand – this device had been entrusted to the care of House Edgerton, who was already at work producing something called a "weekly newsletter" that he had named "The Kingspost". The other gift was that which King Robert now wielded with his hands...

**_BANG!_**

"HA! SPLENDID!" yelled the King in ecstasy. When he was spent, he handed it over to Lancel, who took a few minutes to insert several more "shells" into the "breach" at the rear of the "shot-gonne", as he had been shown and instructed by the Sky-People. Meanwhile, Robert took a seat and helped himself to another swig of wine.

"Your Grace!" shouted one of the hunting party's scouts as he came charging into the campsite. He ran up to the King and bowed. "Your Grace... our scouts have been tracking the movement of a great stag through these parts since yesterday. They're about five miles west of our campsite."

"EXCELLENT! I CANNOT wait to UNLEASH the full might of this BOOMSTICK upon this STAG!" laughed the King, taking another great swig from the wineskin, "OURS is the FURY, indeed!" Without a second thought, he impatiently grabbed the shot-gonne back from Lancel. "GIVE me ANOTHER!" he commanded.

"Your Grace, I do urge you to be careful," commented Ser Barristan, "you did read thoroughly that... 'instructions manual' that came with it, did you?"

"Of COURSE," said the King, disinterestedly, "read it, got BORED, decided that NO amount of 'THEORY' can EVER substitute for EXPERIENCE! I am a WARRIOR, through and THROUGH! I have no NEED for these little... PAPERS and their funny little WARNINGS. LUMPY! Another DRINK!"

"Yes, Your Grace," obliged the young Lannister Squire, and he presented the wineskin to the King. Robert took another hearty swig.

"Ah, that HITS the SPOT! You KNOW, come to THINK of it, I WONDER what the SKY-WOMEN are like in BED," mused Robert, chuckling, "I saw a whole SHIPLOAD o' 'em back at their AUTUMN'S FRONTIER. Do YA think Lord KOVACS will let me FUCK one o' THEM, one o' these DAYS? He MAY be a LORD in _his_ REALM, but I am _the_ KING o' _this_ REALM!" As if to make his point, he discharged another bolt.

**_BANG!_**

"I would not be so confident about that, Your Grace," added Lord Renly, pouring himself a glass of the Arbor gold. The King's youngest brother had, until now, been watching the entire scene from where he sat. He had no "gonne" of his own, so he contented himself to sit down on one of the chairs set up here at their campsite and watch his older brother play around with his new toy out of great curiosity. He continued: "they treat their women differently from ours – they're treated as the equal of men, if you can believe that! Holding important offices of power, being allowed to 'vote', to work the same jobs as men and earn the same as well. They are even allowed to join the army."

"These SKY-PEOPLE are CRAZY." mused the King, "WAR is no proper PLACE for a WOMAN..." His Grace paused and frowned for a second, and Ser Barristan wondered if he was suddenly remembering the Stark girl. Whatever it may have been, Robert quickly dismissed it and carried on.

**_BANG!_**

"Well, it works just fine for the Sky-People," insisted Renly, "they're so much richer, more advanced, more powerful than us. And not just women; from what I heard, they treat equally too those men who... have different tastes..."

"Ah, YES, but the Sky-People are DIFFERENT," retorted the King, "Perhaps you REMEMBER when Lady VAENYA came to SER LORAS' rescue?"

**_BANG!_**

"I remember very well, thank you," replied the Younger of the two Stags, "I was sitting right next to her and Lord Kovacs."

"Ah, LUCKY you then. Tell me: ya ever FUCK a RIVERLANDS girl, BROTHER?" roared the King.

"Uh... once... I think," replied Renly.

"You THINK? I think you'd REMEMBER," taunted the King, "Lumpy, ANOTHER!"

"Yes, Your Grace," muttered Lancel as he lobbed another clay disc into the air.

**_BANG!_**

"BACK in our DAY," continued the Great Stag, "you weren't a real MAN until you'd FUCKED one GIRL from EACH of the SEVEN Kingdoms AND the Riverlands. 'MAKIN' THE EIGHT', we used to CALL it. Seven HELLS, with the SKY-PEOPLE and their FALCON-SHIPS, why, we could throw ALL o' the FREE CITIES in there TOO! And perhaps the SUMMER ISLANDS as well! Ol' Prince JALABHAR always said I'd LIKE it down THERE."

"Those will be some lucky girls indeed," quipped Renly sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

The King ignored him. "YOU ever MAKE THE EIGHT, Ser BARRISTAN?"

"I don't believe so," replied the old Kingsguardsman, honestly. To be frank, he had lost count after all these years – suffice to say, his young swashbuckling days were well behind him.

All the same, the King had a hearty laugh. "Ah-HA-HA! Oh-HO-HO! Oh, those WERE the good ol' DAYS!"

Renly however, snapped, and got to his feet. "Which 'good ol' days' exactly, brother?" he chided, "the days where one half of the Realm tore the other half apart and tens of thousands died? When Stannis and I spent the better part of a year _starving_ behind the walls of Storm's End, tying up the better part of Mace Tyrell's army, while you were out and about playing hero? Or before that? When the Mad King burned men, tortured women, and slaughtered babies because the voices in his head told him to do it? Or perhaps way before that even, when dragons laid whole cities to ash and ruin?"

Robert glared at him. "EASY boy..." he growled, "...you MAY be my BROTHER, but you're SPEAKING to the KING!" He pointed the Royal Boomstick at his brother.

"Your Grace! Careful!" cried Ser Barristan, alarmed.

"RELAX, it's EMPTY; do I look like a DRUNKEN FOOL to you?" spat the King at Ser Barristan, waving the gun in the air carelessly. He looked back at his brother.

"Well I s'pose it was all rather heroic then, wasn't it?" retorted Renly, "if you were drunk enough and had some poor Riverlands whore to shove your prick inside and 'make the Eight'?" With that, Lord Renly turned and strode off back to the tents, fuming.

The Greater Stag stood for a moment, watching the Younger Stag wander off, looking sullen and purple in the face. Then, he quietly refilled the Royal Boomstick, by himself this time, which Ser Barristan took to be one way of calming down. With the shot-gonne reloaded, Robert once again called out to Lancel. "Lumpy, ANOTHER!"

**_BANG!_**

"Ha-HA-HA!"

**_BANG!_**

"BLOODY brilliant! MARVELOUS!"

**_BANG!_**

"Oh, how I WISH I had HAD one of these BABIES back on the TRIDENT! Oh, what's THAT? _RHAEGAR'S ALIVE?!_"

**_BANG!_**

"NOT ANYMORE! Eat leaden DEATH, Targaryen SCUM!"

_Bang_...

"Seven HELLS, missed that ONE! Nevermind, ANOTHER!"

**_BOOOOOOMM!_**

It all happened so fast. All that Ser Barristan could remember was that the moment His Grace had pulled the triggering mechanism, this time, there was an explosion of smoke and shards of steel. A tiny piece of twisted metal struck Ser Barristan's un-helmeted face in the cheek; the Old Knight winced in pain, but his training and conditioning demanded that there was a more pressing immediate concern. He looked to the King. Sure enough, Robert Baratheon lay there on the ground, face forward, laying in a growing pool of his own blood, of his own making.

* * *

**IN MEMORIAM:**  
**King Robert of House Baratheon, First Of His Name**  
The Usurper, The Demon Of The Trident, The Whoremonger King  
King Of The Andals, The Rhoynar, And The First Men  
Lord Of The Seven Kingdoms And Protector Of The Realm.  
262 to 298 A.C.

_"As the SEVEN once commanded, LOVE thy NEIGHBOR as THYSELF, unless he's a TARGARYEN, in which case, KILL THE BASTARD!"_

"The TARGARYENS are ALIVE?!"

* * *

_**Footnotes:**_

_Here, we see what happens when Robert's casual attitude is combined with a dangerous weapon, inexperience, and wine - particularly, his inability to recognize a squib round that caused his shotgun to backfire (and remember that future shotguns are much more powerful than modern shotguns). Granted, there is also the remote possibility that it was sabotaged too..._


	74. Eddard 9

**Eddard (IX)**

"And you are certain of this?" asked Lord Eddard Stark from atop his perch upon the Iron Throne. With His Grace away on his hunting trip and not expected back in the capital for another week, Ned held court in his absence.

"Yes, my lord," replied Ser Karyl Vance, the son of Lord Vance, "every day more news of the same: ten thousand... fifteen thousand... twenty thousand men assembling at Casterly Rock, the last we had heard from some merchants plying the River Road. There could be more by now."

"A training exercise, nothing more," sneered the Grand Maester Pycelle dismissively, from his seat to Ned's left.

Ser Karyl shook his head, "no, it cannot be," he insisted, "the Leffords thus far have not marched to join their liege lord at the Rock. Lord Lefford has called his banners, but they remain at the Golden Tooth, training, arming, gathering supplies. We sent a party there to treat with them, to voice our concerns over this sudden rearmament; he told us the same, that it was a simple training exercise, nothing more. But when we left, we took note that the peasant levies were at work, constructing a field camp of immense size on our border. It was as if Lord Lefford intended to host the entire military forces of the Westerlands there, and that can only mean one thing: Lord Tywin Lannister means to attack the Riverlands."

Deep down, Ned Stark knew that if the Old Lion meant to go to war, it was with the North, and that the Riverlands were only an innocent bystander caught in the crossfire. The bond between Wolf and Fish was strong, tied together by Ned's own marriage to Lady Catelyn, and by the common sacrifices both Great Houses had made together back in the Rebellion against the Mad King. As such, Lord Hoster Tully would never allow the Lions to march an army through his lands. But then again, Tywin was not exactly the kind of man who would accept "no" as an answer. Through "persuasion" if possible, or force if necessary, he would obtain the passage he needed from House Tully.

Ned could not help but begin to understand why Robert so seldom ever held court – dealing with issues as these was, pardon his Dornish, a right bloody nightmare. And all of this was not helped in any way by the extreme discomfort Ned was in after hours of remaining seated upon the Iron Throne. Even over a month on, the injury that the Kingslayer had inflicted upon him still caused him great pain, and he could not simply lean back, for the jagged edges and barbs of the Iron Throne made sure of that.

When he first forged the Iron Throne from the captured swords of his enemies, King Aegon The Conqueror decreed that a king should never sit easy, not while there was a Realm to run. In his mind, Ned now secretly damned the name of Aegon for this... and that of Robert too, for having thrust this torture upon him... and he damned himself as well, for having so dutifully having accepted it. Oh, how things would have been far simpler if only he had chosen to remain in Winterfell, or to have returned there when he had the chance. Let the South tear itself apart from the inside out from its own corruption and decadence. The North may have been one of the Seven Kingdoms, but the Northmen were proud to have always done things their own way, and now, with the new wealth and prosperity that the Sky-People had brought to the North, there was a hope that the children of the North would grow up towards a stronger and better future – one free from either the Lannisters... or from whatever lay Beyond The Wall...

Ned bit his lip. _No_, he scolded himself, _stop thinking such thoughts_. Returning to Winterfell may have been the easiest thing in the world, but his duty required that he remain here in the capital. Without him here, the man he had once called brother would slowly slide ever deeper into his drunkeness-induced self ruin and enslavement to the Rock, and would drag the rest of the Realm down with him. And the murderer of the man who had raised both Ned and Robert together like his own sons remained at large. Add to that too this new program of "modernization" that Robert had ordered, including the new army to raise that, as usual, His Grace had so commanded, but left the finer details to the Hand to work out. _The King shits and the Hand wipes indeed_, thought Ned, again pardoning his Dornish.

"Ser Karyl of House Vance," he spoke at last, "if Lord Tywin Lannister really means to attack the Riverlands without reason or provocation, then that would be an out and out violation of the King's Peace. Rest assured, I will not allow the Lannisters to get away with this. Let the record reflect that I, Lord Eddard of House Stark of Winterfell, Hand Of The King and Warden Of The North, in the name of His Grace King Robert of the House Baratheon, First Of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord Of The Seven Kingdoms and Protector Of The Realm, hereby issue Lord Tywin of the House Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden Of The West, a summons to appear in person in King's Landing within the next four weeks so that he may explain himself and this sudden bellicosity he is displaying before His Grace The King himself. Should Lord Tywin refuse to comply with these summons, or should he so choose to violate the King's Peace within the next four weeks, he will be branded an enemy of the Crown, and a traitor to the Realm."

"Your Lordship!" exclaimed Maester Pycelle in disbelief, "I would caution you that you reconsider this proclamation. What if Lord Tywin does not comply?"

"If necessary... I will lead the King's Landing First Rifles myself," replied Ned, matter-of-factly.

"Lord Tywin Lannister is the richest and most powerful man in all the Seven Kingdoms," warned the old Grand Maester.

"Not anymore, he is not," said Ned, calmly but boldly, "I know of one richer and more powerful than he: Lord Frederick Kovacs and his Most Noble And Esteemed Company." Ned was not entirely sure if he was bluffing or telling the honest truth. The Sky-People had insisted time and time again that their laws forbade them from direct intervention in Westerosi politics. But it was common knowledge that these foreigners had been on amicable terms with Winterfell, and so to invoke their name was more for impact among the those present at today's hearing than anything else. And deep down, Ned wondered how long could they truly continue their neutrality if war did come to the Seven Kingdoms.

Ser Karyl Vance and his party were the last ones to be given audience that morning; with proceedings adjourned, Ned left the Throne Room and, accompanied by two of his new Winterfell guards, made his way back to the Tower Of The Hand. The Red Keep was not as large as Winterfell or of this "Castle of King Mickey Of House Disney, Lord of the Magic Kingdom" that Ned had once heard Lord Kovacs speak of, but the commute back to the tower was certainly lengthy enough to give him time for some brief reflection... specifically, on a revelation that had recently come to light.

Oh yes, Lord Stark knew... knew very well now the truth for which Jon Arryn had died. A few days ago, a most urgent message had arrived for him through unconventional means: a ship of Lyseni make had arrived in the port and aboard it had been a courier claiming to be in the sworn service to Lord Stannis Baratheon. Ned was suspicious at first, but relented after he recognized the unbroken seal of King Robert's brother. This letter carried within it a most damning accusation – one that had shocked Ned to no end, but one that had suddenly made a twisted kind of sense once he began to look for the signs...

"Lord Hand Of The King!" addressed a familiar voice as he approached Ned and his guards, "may I walk with you?"

"Lord Master Of Coin, I bid you good day," replied Ned, "I trust your new duties are not proving to be too burdensome for you?"

"So so," replied the Halfmaster Of Coin, "with every passing day, I have come to realize more and more just how much my disgraced predecessor has tried to run this Realm deeper and deeper into the red." He and Ned strode along through the Keep's gardens. Lord Tyrion continued: "my duty is a most tiresome and thankless one, but it is not entirely without the occasional pleasant surprise. This morning, we found another few thousand Gold Dragons in Lord Baelish's secret stash, so it is somewhat pleasing to know that my predecessor did not abscond with as much as we had initially feared he had. Based on my estimates, we will have enough to pay all of our current expenses, including interest for the Iron Bank and the training and equipping of the First Rifles, for the next year or so. After that, well... I'm afraid that His Grace will have to make do with less feasts and tourneys. We will also have to shore up our tax collection and customs. We may also have to explore _alternative_ sources of revenue..."

"If you are suggesting that we lease some of the Crownlands out to the Sky-People..." began Ned, "...I have already given it some thought, and have decided that it is better to wait." _And if we were to also exact indemnities from the Rock..._ thought Ned, although that might not be the wisest idea now that their new Master-Of-Coin was a Lion too. A nobler Lion than the rest of the pride, but a Lion all the same.

And sure enough, the next thing Tyrion said further cemented this idea in Ned's mind: "Lord Stark, there is something I need to ask of you. I heard that my Lord Father is to be branded a traitor..."

"No one has been declared a traitor yet," explained Ned, quickly, "your Lord Father has been merely summoned here to explain his recent actions before His Grace the King."

"Very well, though I do wish you the best of fortune in making my Lord Father do as such," spoke the Halfman, "what I had actually wanted to ask about was my brother, Ser Jaime... specifically, this warrant you have out for his arrest..."

Ned's injury began to sting just as the mention of the Kingslayer's name. "I thank you for your honesty," he replied quickly, "but I am afraid I cannot dismiss it. Your Brother knowingly and willfully attempted to strike down in cold blood a High-Lord Paramount and the Warden Of The North. I understand that he acted out of a mistaken but honest belief of my culpability in his poisoning... and that he was perhaps even manipulated into his actions by your predecessor. But all the same, he must be held accountable for his actions. If the law does not act, then the law is meaningless. Ser Jaime Lannister _must_ stand trial, whether the Gods ultimately find him guilty or not." Ned had been careful to word his reply so as to defer the ultimate decision of the Kingslayer's fate to the Gods (and thus absolve himself of some of the responsibility), though he also noted that Lord Tyrion might take hope that if a Trial-By-Champion were to be declared, perhaps his brother would walk freely after all.

Tyrion was silent for a minute. At last he spoke: "I... understand then. You have your reasons. But I want you to know that whatever you may think of my family... my brother and my sister and my Lord Father... well, not all of us are the villains you may believe us to be."

Ned was thinking quite a bit about Tyrion's family, specifically his brother and sister, but did not pursue this matter any further. He thanked the Master Of Coin for his counsel, and then continued on to the Tower Of The Hand. There, Ned proceeded to sit down and have lunch with the girls and the direwolves. As usual, Arya spoke at great length and excitement of her "dancing lessons" today, while her sister Sansa continued to speak highly of the Crown Prince and her husband-to-be. Ned kept quiet throughout the entire affair, unable to bring himself to speak of Joffrey, at least not until he had time to decide how he would disclose this revelation to Robert. Even with the words of Lord Stannis Baratheon behind him (and with luck, the Master Of Ships himself would be arriving in a few days to corroborate this truth), it promised to be no easy task.

It was then, as lunch was being concluded, that there was a knock at the door. "My lord," spoke Vayon Poole as he entered, his voice shaking. _This could not be good_, thought Ned. How right he was. "It is His Grace, My Lord," continued Ned's steward, "there's been... an accident in the Kingswood. His Grace is dead. I am so sorry, My Lord."

* * *

_**Footnotes:**_

_1\. This chapter is inspired by Ned's POV wherein he dispatches Ser Beric Dondarion to arrest Ser Gregor Clegane after hearing the plight of Riverlands villagers who have had their lands raided by The Mountain. The main difference here, of course, is that Clegane is not raiding the Riverlands – Tywin's casus belli is different from OTL, and Ser Gregor is still recovering emotionally from a recent event that was quite traumatizing for him. Rather, the issue brought to Ned is Lord Vance and Piper's concern over Lannister rearmament – suffice to say, it is impossible to muster a large army, especially so near to a major trade hub and population center like Lannisport, without everyone finding out about it._

_2\. In OTL in the books, Ned did not summon Tywin to KL, but he does in the HBO show. Curiously, in the show, he gave Tywin only "a fortnight" to appear in KL, suggesting that either TV Westeros is smaller than book Westeros, or else that Ned deliberately wanted Tywin not to show up to KL in time so that he could brand him a traitor and call the rest of the Seven Kingdoms against him. If so, this would be a remarkable display of political savvy on Ned's part, and just goes to show that Ned is a lot more astute than casual GOT fans make him out to be. The main reason these GOT fans accuse Ned of being politically inept is because they have the hindsight of knowing that ultimately, nothing works out in the end; had Ned "won" instead, these same people would be praising Ned for these very same actions._


	75. Daenerys 2

**Daenerys (II)  
**  
A red sun rose that morning over the Mother Of Mountains in the east; blood was to be split that day.

The Dothraki were not bound by the same ancient and ingrained laws and customs as other nations; among a people who followed strength, the word of the Khal was almost always final. But there were in fact a few laws and traditions that were always honored without exception, and one of them was that never was a bladed weapon ever to be drawn nor the blood of a freeman ever to be shed within the sacred boundaries of Vaes Dothrak.

Now, obviously, taken literally, to "shed blood" was not the same as "to kill or injure", so if the need ever arose, the Dothraki were always creative in finding a "non-blood shedding" manner to dispatch someone, usually through strangulation or burning. But for the purposes of an honor duel, strangling or burning did not suffice: there needed to be blood.

And so it was for this reason that _Khaleesi_ Daenerys Targaryen and her handmaidens, Irri, Doreah, and Jhiqui, as well as her guards Rakharo, Aggo, and Jhogo, and her brother the Beggar King Viserys, and Ser Jorah Mormont, along with thousands of other Dothraki, men, women, children and horses alike, had all gathered just outside the great bronze Horse statues that marked the gates of Vaes Dothrak, to watch the blood duel about to unfold.

"Fear not, Moon Of My Life," spoke the Khal gently, in the Dothraki language, as he caressed his _Khaleesi_ and bearer of his child in his arms. He continued: "I shall vanquish this Andal Woman; I shall crush her and take her Funny Man as my prize! And he shall be your gift, to do with him as you please. Perhaps he shall entertain you."

"My Sun And Stars," replied Dany, taking her husband's hands into her own, "please take care of yourself! Please do all you can to spare her life – she is very brave, and she only means well for me. And if you must kill, please make it quick, so that she does not suffer too much." Drogo smiled and kissed her.

At the opposing end of the flat field stood his opponent, and now Daenerys could admire her for what she truly was. Whatever armor she had worn last night it seems had only been there for show; she had discarded her plate in favor of something lighter and more agile. She carried a large blade, but that was right now sheathed on her belt; it seemed almost like she intended to defeat the Khal with her hands alone. Right next to her stood her squire and fool, who had come not to fight, but to watch.

Drogo stepped forward, and pulled out his Dothraki curved sword, his _arakh_; its polished blade shone brightly, reflecting the morning sun. His single braid swayed back and forth magnificently in the wind, the little bells tied into it chiming their song. He was the very image of a mythical hero from some Old Valyrian tragedy, and for a moment, Daenerys did not fear for him, because she felt he could conquer the world. He addressed the foreigner, though in a tone of voice clearly meant for all to hear: "behold, foreigner! Your doom approaches! Today, you will learn what happens when you insult Khal Drogo, Son of Khal Bharbo, Destroyer of Cities and Scourge of Nations!"

"Very well, Khal Drogo," replied the Lady calmly but sternly in the Dothraki language, "we meant no insult nor injury to you; we would have preferred that you had simply agreed to release your _Khaleesi_ to our care and accept our generous payment in kind. Let your defeat today serve as a warning to those who would ever refuse the generosity of The Company in future."

"Bah! I spit on you and your petty offerings!" spat the Khal, "and when you lay dead upon the earth, I shall take your fool and whatever 'payment' you have with you for myself! And the day that your people come to our lands, I shall burn your cities, crush your men, and hear the lamentations of your women!" A great cheer roared up from the thousands of gathered spectators. And with that, the fight began.

The Khal charged, moving with a grace and finesse that was surprising for a man that size, and that Dany had grown to admire and love her husband all the more for it. Drogo was quick indeed... but the Lady was quicker. Moving with a mixture of speed and strength that surprised all who saw it, the Lady dodged the Khal's blade, and instead spun her right leg around and planted her foot into the Khal's side with enough force to send Drogo flying through the air. He landed what looked to be twenty feet away. A collective gasp emerged from the gathered audience.

Drogo, however, lithe as a cat, had managed to land on his feet... though the look on his face shown that he was just as surprised by this Lady as anyone else.

"Great Khal, I have said it before, I shall say it again," spoke the Lady, "we mean no harm to you; hand over your _Khalessi_, accept our payment, and we can end this fight right here and now."

"NEVER!" roared the Khal, as he got to his feet. This time, instead of charging her head on, he slowly circled his opponent, trying to find an opening in her defense. For a few tense minutes, the two opponents circled one another. The crowd too, thousands of Dothraki strong, fell strangely silent as they waited to see who struck next – the only sounds one could make out were the calling of birds and the neighing of horses.

But the Lady's patience seemed infinite, while Drogo's was not. After minutes that seemed to feel like they stretched on for hours, and after his search for a weakness proved to be in vain, Drogo went in for an all out attack. This time, just before reaching an arm's length from her, he darted left and around her, trying to strike her from the side.

But she was too fast. His opponent whirled around on the spot and in the blink of an eye, before he could react, she had planted three... four... five... six punches in rapid succession, to his face and chest. Drogo stumbled back, surprised.

"You do realize that I am only holding back because I do not wish to inflict any serious long-term injuries upon you?" spoke his opponent. "If you now wish to end to this pointless violence and seek a peaceful resolution, our offer still stands."

Dany could not tell if the Lady's words were those of mocking sarcasm or concerned sincerity, but either way, they seemed to be true, as she quickly found to her horror. Drogo charged a second time, _arakh_ raised high, and brought it down on the Lady, only to have it blocked... by her hands no less. She had reached up and grabbed the _arakh_ by the blade with her right hand, and had stopped it in mid-air, even with the Khal and all of his great strength behind it. With her free left hand, she punched the Khal square in the chest, knocking him backwards.

The fight continued for what seemed like hours, but it was always the same: the Khal, growing ever more impatient and desperate, would throw himself at his opponent again and again, only to be beaten back with increasing severity. Dany could not believe her eyes. She prayed to whatever Gods were listening that it was her tears that clouded her vision, for she could not believe what she saw. It had become apparent just how desperately outmatched even the great Khal himself was, and how the Lady could end the match at any time if she so chose. In a way, the leniency of her counterattacks was a cruel mercy, for it meant that Drogo always somehow found the strength and resilience to try and try again.

Doreah, Irri, and Jhiqui seemed to share their _Khaleesi's_ distress. Ser Jorah remained impassive – if he was shocked by what he saw, he did well to keep silent. Viserys, however, seemed beside himself with delight...

"I knew our dear loyalists had not forgotten us!" smiled Viserys, giddy like a little child, "with warriors like Lady Vaenya at my command, the Iron Throne is as good as mine! Why do we even need the Dothraki anymore? By the way, which House did she say she was from again? Somewhere in Dorne, right? Best I remember, they're the only ones where the women fight as well, and they hate the Usurper too, after what his wretched dogs did to Rhaegar's dear Elia and their children..."

"Your Grace, Lady Vaenya hails from no House I recognize," cautioned Ser Jorah, "I have never seen their sigil nor ever heard their accents before, and if they do indeed hail from Dorne, they look like no Dornishman I have ever seen."

"Now, now, Ser Jorah, I am certain that not all Dornishmen look the same," lectured Viserys dismissively, "we mustn't let certain prejudices color our world view, after all. I... oh look! Ouch! That _horse-fucking Dothraki_ isn't going to be 'hearing the lamentations of women' anytime too soon! Ha-ha!" Ser Jorah rolled his eyes.

Daenerys felt the need to scream at her brother, to hit him, but she could not. For now, she was too fixated on the pain and misery of her husband. Some among the crowd, those most strongly loyal and attached to their Khal, could even be seen to be in tears.

This time, Drogo did not rise again. He only lay there on the ground, looking up at the sky, a look of shock and disbelief and exasperation upon his face. The Lady reached down and picked up Drogo's _arakh_ where he had dropped it, strode up to where her opponent lay.

"Noooo!" cried Dany. And for a minute, it looked like the Lady was poised to end the Khal's life for good.

But she did not. In fact, she did not even think to cut the Khal's braid, the sign of an undefeated warrior. Instead, she dropped the _arakh_ at his feet, and then turned to address the crowd. "Behold! I have spared your Khal's life, for we do not believe in more violence than that which is _necessary_. May this serve as a warning to you all: our intentions are peaceful, but we will not hesitate to destroy all those who stand in our way!"

Great murmurs and gasps erupted from throughout the crowd.

And then, from out of the crowd emerged one man. Dany rubbed the tears out of her eyes to see who it was. It was Jhaqo, a high-ranking _Ko_ within the _Khalassar_, a man whom many said his influence was second only to Drogo himself. For a second, Dany felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps Jhaqo was here to help champion her in Drogo's stead? Perhaps he and others would stand up for her against this Lady?

But no. Instead of challenging Lady Vaenya, Ko Jhaqo strode over to where Drogo lay on the dirt. Perhaps he was trying to help his Khal back to his feet?

"Jhaqo!" shouted Cohollo, one of Drogo's loyal blood-riders, "what are you doing?"

Jhaqo, however, ignored him, and instead turned to address all in the crowd at once: "do you see, brothers and sisters? The Great Stallion has spoken! Drogo is weak! Drogo is unfit to be Khal! Drogo has disgraced himself by losing to this... this _woman_!"

"What... what the hell's going on?" stammered Ser Frederick Kovacs, speaking in the Common Tongue to Lady Vaenya. "You won, didn't you?"

"You are correct, Director Kovacs," she replied, "however, it would appear that a sub-faction of organics within the _Khalassar_ have come to view my defeat of Director Drogo as an opportune time to affect a regime change. Director Drogo's demise at my hands is being interpreted by these individuals and their followers as sign of political illegitimacy."

"Oh great," muttered Ser Frederick, "more fucking politics. Things are just never that simple, are they? What's that Jacko guy doing? Is he...?"

Jhaqo picked up Drogo's _arakh_... and drove its point right into Drogo's neck. Dany cried out in horror. Her Sun And Stars, the man whom she had once feared but had come to adore, who protected her, who fathered the child in her womb... that man now lay dead upon the earth, slain not by these merciful foreigners, but by his own erstwhile followers.

"OH SHIT!" exclaimed Ser Frederick, "that wasn't supposed to happen!"

"JHAQO, YOU TRAITOR!" roared Cohollo as he ran out onto the field as fast as his legs could carry him, "Drogo trusted you! Treated you like his own son! IS THIS HOW YOU REPAY HIM?!" With that, he threw himself at the treacherous _Ko_, swinging his _arakh_ madly. Jhaqo stopped it with his own _arakh_, both blades clashing together as sparks flew everywhere.

"Ignore these two!" shouted Pono, another _Ko_ stepping out from the crowd and onto the field, "Drogo and Jhaqo _both_ are unfit! _I_ shall be your new Khal!"

"My little Pono, you could not lead a herd of _lamb-men_ if your life depended on it!" spat Brono in disgust, yet another warrior stepping onto the field, "I am clearly the most fit to be your new Khal!" Brono slashed his _arakh_ at Pono, though the latter dodged it.

At that moment, it seemed that all Seven Hells broke loose. All across the grounds, Dothraki men turned on one another, between those loyal to Drogo and mourning his death, and those who felt his defeat required a new leader – and even among the latter, there were those who fought for Jhaqo, and those who fought for Pono or for Brono, and some who simply fought for themselves to be the new Khal. The women, the children, and the elderly fled as fast as they could back into the city, for they would be safe there, but the grounds outside the city was quickly turning into a bloodbath.

"_Khaleesi_!" shuddered Ser Jorah as he grasped Dany by the arm, "you carry _Drogo's child_! You're not safe here! Follow me!" Just as he turned to lead her and her small party back to the safety of the city, however, a group of Dothraki screamers threw themselves into their path. One came at Ser Jorah; the knight blocked the attack, and swung back; the warrior was quick on his feet, and before long, was joined by several other warriors. Rakharo, Jhogo, and Aggo rushed to Ser Jorah's side; they fought bravely to keep Daenerys safe, but they were outnumbered, and distracted, and before long, one of the screamers broke off from the others to come for Daenerys herself, seeing her unguarded.

"BACK OFF, YOU BASTARD!" screamed Viserys, throwing himself at her attacker, swinging his sword madly. "NO-ONE HARMS MY SISTER! I NEED HER ALIVE!" he screamed again, with rage, as he drove his sword into the exposed gut of that warrior, slicing it open. He yanked the sword clean out, and spun around on the spot and slashed the face of another of the traitorous _Ko's_ warriors.

"What are you doing?!" shuddered Dany.

"Protecting you, dear sister!" declared Viserys, "you are more use to me alive than dead!" He turned and waved his sword at another warrior. "BACK OFF! Keep your stinking paws off the noble blood of Old Valyria, you damned dirty horse-fuckers!"

"Shut up, _Cart King_," droned a voice, attempting to speak the Common Tongue. It was Dasho, a warrior Dany knew to be close to the self-proclaimed Khal Brono. Viserys thrust his sword at him, but he blocked it, parrying the blow with his _arakh_. With both swords locked in place, Dasho raised his right leg and planted a kick to Viserys' groin. Viserys fell backward onto the ground; he tried to hold up his sword to block the incoming blow, but it was too late, and Dasho swung his _arakh_ around and brought it down onto the Targaryen's neck.

Whatever else she may have thought of him, Viserys was the only family Daenerys had left, and for all of these long years, had helped keep her shielded from the Usurper's spies and assassins, even if it had been for his own selfish reasons. Now, at that moment, she screamed and cried as she watched the life drained from her brothers eyes, and there, on that spot, died Viserys Targaryen, Third Of His Name, The Beggar King, The Sore Foot King, The Cart King, The Last Dragon.

* * *

_**Footnotes:  
**__  
1\. When I first posted this chapter on the other website, some readers complained about Jhaqo's seemingly random killing of Drogo. Before my comments section here is filled with similar complaints, I feel that these criticisms should be addressed. This entire chapter is themed around the idea that "__The Dothraki follow strength__" - thus, by losing to VENI (a woman, no less) Drogo has suddenly lost his legitimacy in the eyes of most Dothraki. Now, some members of the Khalassar, like Cohollo, understand that VENI is no ordinary warrior, and thus remained loyal to Drogo. Others, however, view Drogo's failure as the perfect opportunity to overthrow a much-weakened Drogo and seize power. _

_2\. Treason and backstabbery is endemic in Dothraki culture. In the original book, Drogo himself attacked another Khalassar when they were out of Vaes Dothrak, and was in turn betrayed by Jhaqo and Pono, two Kos (high-ranking lieutenants), as soon as he got sick. Remember, it is also Jhaqo who finds Daenerys and Drogon at the end of "A Dance With Dragons", which means that he'll probably be an outright villain in "The Winds Of Winter" that Dany and Drogon will have to defeat (and remember that Drogon is named after Drogo, so... karma, anyone?)._

_3\. "Cart King" is a name of shame and dishonor the Dothraki used to mock Viserys, because in the Dothraki culture, real men ride horses. That said, I wanted to give Viserys a small opportunity to "redeem himself" - even if his "redemption" is motivated more by greed than sincerity._


	76. Fred 13

**City of Vaes Dothrak  
The Dothraki Sea  
Eastern Continent aka "Essos"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4**

The fighting outside the gates of the city had died down, and from what Fred had gathered, this "Jhaqo" fellow and his supporters had emerged victorious and laid claim to the title of Khal in the wake of Drogo's demise. Whatever the case, this left Fred and VENI precious little time to locate the last surviving asset before the new Khal and his goons came for her. Having already lost one of the assets, it was vital that this one survive. (Although from what he would later be told, the late Prince Viserys was a bit of an asshole, and so perhaps his death was not so much of a loss after all).

According to VENI, the princess and her followers had fled the battlegrounds and had sought shelter somewhere in the city after the fighting had broken out amongst the squabbling warlords. Fred and VENI would have caught up to her sooner too, had it not been for the, oh, only fifty or sixty or however many of those savages AND their horses too that they had to fight their way through to get out of that clusterfuck. _Man, PETA's gonna throw an EPIC bitchfit if they ever find out about those horses VENI punched_, mused Fred to himself, _or that one horse she picked up and threw at those bad guys_...

Fred had learnt from his last little brush with the 'Walkers, and now carried three extra batteries for his Shocktaser – good thing too, because he was now down to his last battery, and it pained him to run because of his injury. _Dammit_, he thought, _if I'd known we'd be fighting off thousands and thousands of budget Mongol/Comanche knockoffs, I might not have signed up for this. Shit, why couldn't Mr. Attila The Hun here just give us the damn girl in the first place? We could've avoided all this!_ He looked over at VENI; she ran on nuclear power, so of course she looked like she was just getting started even after plowing a path of destruction through, I dunno, half the whole fuckin' tribe. Man, a lot of Dothraki were gonna be shaving their heads after today...

"Director Kovacs, my scanners have traced Monarch D. Targaryen's position to this habitable structure," said VENI as they arrived outside of a large, semi-permanent yurt, not too far from the late Khal's great hall.

"Alright, lead the way," said Fred. At his command, VENI kicked down the wooden door. Enough sunlight filtered in through the canvas to keep the inside relatively well lit.

There, sure enough, lay the princess, unconscious, stretched out on a leather mat that covered the ground. She was bleeding from several wounds inflicted on her during her attempt to flee the chaotic melee that had broken out outside the city gates. _Poor child_, thought Fred, feeling remorse at the sight of her, _she's barely 14 and all of it spent on the run or hiding in fear_. He usually wasn't the empathetic type, but he suddenly felt a great anger within him – an anger at this backward and primitive and barbaric planet that could inflict such horrors onto such a beautiful child: hunting her to the ends of the world, forcing her into marriage with a savage rapist warlord, getting her pregnant at such a tender age...

And, he admitted, he was also angry at himself, for having played a part in all of this. _Dammit! We should have just kidnapped her and her brother in the dead of night_, he scolded himself, _then none of this would have happened. Shit, why does this always happen to me? Fuck you, I'm trying to be a nice guy for once!_

There were two other people in that room. One of them, attending to the princess' wounds, was a young girl whom Fred recognized as one of the princess' handmaidens. Fred did not want to guess what had happened to the other two. The other person, however, was the tall and bearded Westerosi knight, who now stood there and pointed his sword at the intruders. He seemed to recognize VENI immediately, knowing full well what she was capable of, and yet here he stands, in defiant and indomitable defense of the last Targaryen.

"Before you kill me, stranger," glared the knight, "tell me who you are, and what do you want of _Khaleesi_."

"Oh c'mon really?" said Fred, "calm down, we're here to help."

VENI, however, stepped forward fearlessly and addressed the knight: "Commander J. Mormont Jr., I sense that you care highly for the fate of Monarch D. Targaryen; it is thus imperative that you cooperate with our intentions, or else she will expire from her injuries."

The knight looked surprised. "You know who I am?"

"Affirmative," replied VENI, "the archives at Winterfell contain a complete history on your family. Your biological father is Commander J. Mormont Sr., current executive director of the sovereign military order known as the 'Brotherhood Of The Night's Watch'. You were exiled from your homeland by Director Stark for the crime of engaging in the illegal trafficking of organic individuals into indentured servitude."

The knight, named Ser Jorah Mormont, lowered his sword slightly. He cast a glance at the princess, and looked back at VENI. "Can you save her?" he asked quietly.

"Affirmative; we can provide the care needed to preserve the life of Monarch D. Targaryen; we can also assist you in the creation of a new identity and life for yourself if you so choose. But we will require your cooperation." VENI held out her right hand towards the knight. "Do we have your trust, Commander Mormont?"

Ser Jorah sighed, and sheathed his sword. "Very well," he spoke, "but I need to know: how do you intend to get us out of here? The streets are crawling with Khal Jhaqo's thugs."

"Appropriate arrangements have been made," replied VENI, "not too far from this location is a storage facility where Director Kovacs and I had taken the liberty to conceal ground transportation in the event that it was deemed necessary."

"_Ground transportation?_", asked the knight, puzzled, "you mean horses?"

"Uh... yeah, something like that," said Fred, "long story short, our Plan A was to just ask nicely for Daenerys here and buy her off from the Khal. Plan B was to win her fair and square in an honor duel, but that's shot to hell now. Luckily, we have a Plan C: just grab the Princess and run like hell. You see, Mr. Mormont, we're The Company™, and we always get what we want in one way or another. I... oh hello, what have we here?" Something right behind the Princess' body had suddenly caught Fred's attention. He took a closer look at it – it was a large chest, open, within which there lay three large round objects, each the size of a football...

"Dragon eggs," muttered the handmaiden, "they belong to Khaleesi."

"My scans indicate that these objects may perhaps harbor some thaumic potential that would be of interest to our research," chimed in VENI.

"Dragon eggs? Cool!" said Fred, excitedly, "well, whatever they are, fuck it, we're taking 'em with us! By the way, sorry, what's your name?"

"Irri," answered the handmaiden. She was a pretty but tough little thing, not much older than Daenerys, and Fred could see that she was deeply upset over all that had happened, but kept quiet about it. He decided not to ask what had happened to her two co-workers, or those other three young dudes he saw guarding the Princess earlier.

"Okay, listen here then everyone," said Fred, "if we want to keep Dany here alive and safe, we'll need to work together. VENI, you carry Dany here and the goods as well. Irri, you stay with VENI and do whatever she asks of you. Jorah, you and I will stand guard and make sure no one tries to stop us or hurt Khaleesi here in any way. Alright folks: Autobots, roll out!"

The knight and the young handmaiden stared at him for a second. "Oh right, sorry," said Fred, "it's from an old cartoon; it means 'let's get moving'."

* * *

"This way!" cried Jhaqo, beckoning the warriors towards the longhouse in the center of the city that served as a storage place for tools and grain. "I saw them go into there!_Khaleesi_ along with those Andals!"

_Khal_ Jhaqo smiled to himself as his warriors surrounded the structure in question. It was forbidden to draw a blade and shed blood within the sacred confines of the city, so his warriors carried none – only their fists and their courage. It mattered not, as they would overpower their foes with sheer strength and courage alone! And then, _Khaleesi_ would be his to do whatever he so pleased with her. Of course, Drogo's child would have to be disposed of first...

"Come out!" he shouted as he stood directly in front of the door, eager to be the first one to seize the _Khaleesi_ as his prize. "Come out, you foreigners who so dare to draw your blade and shed blood inside our sacred city! Surrender yourselves, and your deaths shall be quick and painless!" he shouted again.

No reply. Instead, there was a new sound – it was unlike anything the Khal had ever heard before... it was like humming at first, but not quite, and then it was followed by a strange high-pitched screaming that was not of this world...

And then, with a great **_CRASH_**, the doors of the storehouse burst open and... a _thing_ like nothing Jhaqo had ever seen before emerged from within.

It was like a cart of some kind, flying through the air, and it was the source of the strange humming noise. No horses pulled it, and yet it moved of its own power. It had only three wheels, and seemed to be crafted from shiny white and black metal. It was not much larger than the largest horse Jhaqo had ever seen, and on it, for a split second, he could see that the Andal Woman was riding it, and beside her lay Drogo's _Khaleesi_. That was the last thing that went through Khal Jhaqo's mind before the strange cart's front wheel collided with his face.

* * *

**_SPLAT_** went the wheels of the Honda ZX-4000 "Lynx" 220kW (300hp) Electric Offroad Motorcycle w/ Sidecar Attachment as it landed back onto the ground after its jump, leaving a trail of blood behind it, 20 feet long. Fred didn't see who was the poor bugger in the way, as he was driving the second Honda Lynx, without a sidecar, tailing VENI by about 30 feet. "What just happened?" yelled Fred into the comlink on his crash-helmet, "you guys alright?"

"It would appear that the unfortunate individual to have found himself directly in the path of this moving vehicle was none other than Director Jhaqo, perpetrator of the termination of Director Drogo," replied the ever calm voice of VENI over the comlink, "I did warn his fellow organics that we would, quote, 'destroy all those who stand in our way', end-quote. As circumstances would have it, he was indeed standing in our way."

"Well, well!" laughed Fred, "talk about kharma!" He gunned the engines forward, chewing up dirt and mud beneath those thick, nano-reinforced hard composite tires with retractable metal studs built into them for extra grip. "And what about you, Mr. Mormont?" shouted Fred over the whine of the electric motor, "how're ya holding up back there?"

Ser Jorah said nothing, merely remained seated right behind Fred, holding onto him for dear life as Fred maneuvered the bike through the nooks and crannies of Vaes Dothrak. Fred kept his eyes on the road ahead, but he could tell that the knight must have been pissing himself at this new experience.

The two motorcycles plowed down the dirt path that passed for Vaes Dothrak's main street; VENI was driving the lead bike, with Irri holding onto her back for dear life while Dany, unconscious and sedated, lay strapped down into the sidecar. Confused onlookers and villagers stared on in shock and surprise at these two objects, these two "horseless two-wheeled metal carts", as they whined down the street and across the marketplace where hundreds of people were gathered.

"Beep beep! Outta the way!" shouted Fred, though he wasn't sure if anyone was listening, or if anyone could understand, or even if they could, if they weren't just too _shocked _with what their eyes beheld. VENI, being the better driver of course with faster reflexes, took the lead, as she could steer and weave her way in and out of the crowd with ease; Fred followed some ways behind, and drove much more slowly, hoping the onlookers would have enough time to disperse and get the fuck outta his way.

Up ahead lay the great bronze statues of the Horse Gate that demarcated the city limits, but Fred knew once they were through, there would be nothing to stop their pursuers from using arrows, so they would have to put the pedal to the metal and build up some speed first. And so Fred twisted the handlebar-mounted throttles, gunning the engine forward. The Electric Synchronous Motor (ESM) whined and screamed, but was otherwise surprisingly and relatively quiet for a machine that could send its riders roaring at up to 320 km/h (200 mph) on a proper paved racing surface (though due to the rough terrain here and one of their passenger's injuries, they would have to drive much, much slower than that). Either way, the bike accelerated forward with a burst of speed that could only have impressed all of the locals who saw it, as it churned up the dirt road and right between the two great statues that marked the gates of Vaes Dothrak.

And now, they were out of the city, out in the open, charging across the open prairies, the wind howling and the sun shining brightly above. "Oh what a day!" shouted Fred, excitedly, picking up speed, "WHAT A LOVELY DAY!"

Ser Jorah said nothing, and continued to hold onto Fred for dear life.

* * *

_**Footnotes:**_

_The __ZX-4000 "Lynx"__ is an awesome futuristic motorcycle I had the idea for; it's made by Honda, who were mentioned in one of the supplemental materials I included on the other website as now being owned by __the Sony-Yutani Group _(ソニー湯谷株式会社)_, a Japanese mega-zaibatsu that's supposed more or less Japan's equivalent to America's The Company™. One can only imagine Ser Jorah's reaction riding one of these babies for the first time..._


	77. The Kingspost 2

**THE KINGSPOST **  
_Ye Moste Reliable And Accurate Source o' Newse in Yon Sevene Kingdomse!_  
Volume 1 – Issue 4 – Septembere 14th, 298 A.C. – 5 Copper Groats

**His Grace Is Dead, Long Live His Grace!**

K.L. - My fellow Lords and Ladies, it is with ye utmost grief and regret that I reporteth to thou that our noble King, His Grace King Robert of the House Baratheon, First O' His Name, King O' The Andals, The Rhoynar, And The First Men, Lord O' The Seven Kingdoms and Protector O' The Realm, is dead. Forsooth, His Grace was killed yesterday in a most tragic hunting accident whilst he was out and about in yon Kingswood, doing as His Grace always loved best. His Grace will be fondly beloved and remembered by his people for his many achievements, for ye overthrow o' the Mad King Aerys Targaryen, Second O' His Name, as well for ye many feasts and tourneys arranged, and for harkening this new age o' "modernization" for all yon Realm! May our illustrious King rest in peace among his great ancestors. Full obituary on page 4.

**Prince Joffrey Is King! All Hail His Grace King Joffrey Baratheon, First Of His Name!  
**

K.L. - Verily, it is with greatest fanfare that I, Lord Phineas O' House Edgerton and Honorable Editor-In-Chief o' _The Kingspost_, and ye rest o' mine humble team here at _The Kingspost_, thusly saluteth and praiseth our new and glorious King, His Grace King Joffrey O' The House Baratheon, First O' His Name, King O' The Andals, The Rhoynar, And The First Men, Lord O' The Seven Kingdoms And Protector O' The Realm. Long live His Grace! May his rule be splendid and bringeth many a great peace and prosperity to all yon Seven Kingdoms! Editorial on page 2.

**LOCAL: Cyalaes Of Myr Caught In Snake Oil Scandal  
**

Ye prominent Essosi merchant and business magnate Cyalaes Of Myr hath recently come under investigation for alleged fraudulent misrepresentation surrounding his famous, best-selling "Legendary Dornish Snake Oil". A fair number o' users o' yon product throughout thy capital hath claimeth that yon product not only faileth to make them pleasurable to thy women, but also produceth many an undesirable side-effect.

"Oh yeah, it was terrible," so sayeth one Dick Smallwood, 25, a humble resident o' Flea Bottom, "I tell you: I bought Cyalaes of Myr's Legendary Snake Oil after some bloke told me he'd read in the paper that it would make me 'fighteth and fucketh all days long like a Dornishman', so I went and bought me some o' this 'ere Snake Oil. And when I took it, the next thing I remember, I found meself in an alleyway, retching and shitting out both ends like a waterfall. Don't buy this shitty product, I tell you!" Full story on Page 3.

**GOSSIP: Who Killed The King? Ye Truth Might Surpriseth Thou...  
**

Art we to believeth that t'was but a simple and innocent "hunting accident" that thus claimed the life of our dear beloved King? I sayeth thou shalt think again! Ye evidence is clear for all to see for themselves, but ye truth may surpriseth thou yet! Full story on Page 4.

_**KARL TANNER: Ye Finest And Most Reliable Assassin Service in all Yon Seven Kingdoms**__. Yes, Seven Silvers is all it takes! Just tell me a man's name, and that man'll never see the light o' day again! None o' them cocksuckers will get away from me! I haven't lost a fight since I was nine! Do you know what they call me here in King's Landing? I'm a Fockin' Legend here in Gin Alley, a FOCKIN' LEGEND! I will take any knight, any time! _

* * *

"If that looks good to you, my lord," began Olyvar, "I will let Lord Edgerton know that you approve, and we shall begin printing. If we start now, we can have a thousand copies printed and dried and ready for circulation by tomorrow morning. By then the news will have spread like wildfire, so our papers should be selling like hot cakes."

"I would not be so hasty and impatient if I were you," replied Lord Petyr Baelish calmly as he reviewed the draft of tomorrow's headlines that Olyvar had presented to his scrutiny. "The day is not over yet. Who knows what else will transpire in the next few hours..."

Olyvar was puzzeld. "Do you really believe that Lord Stark will...?" he began.

"I do not believe, I _know_ for a fact," retorted Littlefinger, cutting him off, "Lord Stark is painfully predictable in his behavior. You should know that I had a very good reason for having that courier arrive when he did. Considering how much effort it took to find a goldsmith able to replicate Lord Stannis' new seal almost perfectly – you know, the one with the flaming heart around the stag – you should know I would not have used such a valuable asset lightly if I was not absolutely certain in my predictions."

"Still m'lord, we are cutting it rather closely in terms of timing," said Olyvar.

At that moment, a third person entered the room. He was a slightly older man, with specks of white throughout his hair, but he looked polished and smart, bathed, and decked out in his new uniform as he was. Littlefinger took a moment to admire the handiwork of the Sky-People: a golden brown-colored tunic, secured in place by a thick black leather belt, with two rows of brass buttons. A red band of cloth tied around the upper sleeve of the right arm depicted the black stag and the golden lion – the sigil of House Baratheon of King's Landing.

"I must say you actually look rather well polished in the uniform, Lieutenant Oswell Kettleback," commented Littlefinger.

"My lord!" began Kettleback, saluting him in return, "thank you, but I have urgent news. Headquarters has just received the dispatch: Lord Stark is calling the King's Landing First Rifles to the Tower Of The Hand. I think he means to make his move now."

Littlefinger turned back to face his protege. "I told you so," be stated, matter-of-factly. He turned back to face the Lieutenant: "very good. Thank you for this news." Littlefinger then reached into his pocket, where he had kept a special letter sealed and prepared for just this very situation well ahead of time. He presented the letter to the officer. "Get this to Lord Commander Slynt immediately, whatever it takes. Everything we have worked for these last couple of months now comes down to the next few hours!"

"It shall be done, m'lord!" saluted the Kettleback, and then he was gone.

Littlefinger looked after him as he left for a moment, and then turned back to Olyvar. "Before I forget, there is one more thing perhaps you would care to enlighten me about - what happened to this Snake Oil fellow? I thought he was a business partner to Lord Edgerton."

"Oh, he was," began Olyvar, "that was _last_ week. But when he refused to pay our higher rates for advertising _this_ week, well, Lord Phineas thought perhaps we should run a so-called 'investigative piece' into the exact nature of his products... one that we would happily drop if he were a little more reasonable to our business negotiations."


	78. Eddard 10

**Eddard (X)**

Within a few minutes of hearing the news, Ned had called an emergency meeting at the Tower Of The Hand... though only of those he could trust, and that was a commodity in desperately short supply these days. As such, it was mainly Ned's own bannermen from Winterfell who packed the main atrium of the Tower, some forty men altogether, although they were also joined by three of the newly appointed officers of the King's Landing Rifles: Lords Beric Dondarrion and Lothar Mallery, and Ser Gladden Wylde. Ned had not been in the capital for more than a few months, but he had already decided that these three could be trusted more so than most of their fellow brothers-in-arms appointed to the Rifles.

With no further cause for delay, Ned called the meeting. "Men, Brothers, Fellow Countrymen: something of the utmost urgency has occurred..." he began. His voice wavered somewhat as he spoke, but he kept a straight face. "His... His Grace King Robert of The House Baratheon, First of His Name... is dead."

At first there was silence. And then at last, Lord Dondarrion was the first to speak. "What happened?" he asked.

"The reports we are getting seem to indicate a... a hunting accident of some kind," began Ned, "His Grace... was injured and died several hours after his injury. We are only hearing this now, so the accident must have happened yesterday."

"Are the Sky-People to blame?" piped up Lord Mallery.

Ned gulped – that was one of his first suspicions too. If they were, it was a possibility too horrible to contemplate. Fortunately, though, Ned felt that his prime suspect was a far more likely candidate. "As of yet, there is no evidence that it was them who were behind this act," he began, "however, I have reason to believe that the perpetrator of this act... was none other than Her Grace, Queen Cersei Lannister.

As Ned had expected, this statement was followed by a round of murmurs around the table and looks of surprise and confusion, even from amongst his own bannermen. And then Ser Wylde rose to his feet and spoke: "My Lord Hand, what you are suggesting here is treasonous! Why would Her Grace commit such a foul act?"

"Is it not obvious?" replied Ned, "why, for no other reason than to put her son the Crown Prince upon the Iron Throne... and to do so before I had the opportunity to reveal to His Grace King Robert the truth."

"And what truth is that?" inquired Lord Dondarrion. He was an honest and honorable man, but Ned knew that if he was to ask of him to perform what could amount to treason, he had better give him a straight answer.

"The truth for which Lord Jon Arryn, the man who fostered and cared for Robert and I, died for," replied Ned, "the truth for which Lord Stannis now hides away on his island keep, surrounding himself with loyal banners for protection. And the truth is this: His Grace Crown Prince Joffrey... is... not the legitimate heir."

Ned stood back and let the weight of this revelation sink in among the men before he continued. Sure enough, there were further murmurs among the men, and looks of surprise. Ned knew that the announcement of the Queen's adultery was already enough of a shock without further delving into her incest as well, and so he had decided beforehand that he would only reveal the first part of the truth for now. He continued: "Joffrey is born of the Queen, aye, that much is true. But he is not the son of His Grace King Robert – neither he, nor his sister Myrcella nor his brother Tommen."

"This is a most damning accusation you make, my Lord," spoke Ser Wylde, speaking up at last, "and one that is not made lightly. Are you so sure about this?"

"I have with me a letter from none other than His Grace's brother, Lord Stannis Baratheon," said Ned pulling forward the letter and presenting the seal of the Master Of Ships, but otherwise keeping it rolled so that the full contents could not be seen by all. "It would appear that just before Lord Jon Arryn's passing, the two of them had been investigating the Queen."

"Stannis?" inquired Ser Wylde, "who would conveniently just so happen to be next in line after Prince Joffrey and Tommen?"

Ned knew that his own Winterfell banners would take his word, and that it would be the Crownland and Stormland lords who would need the most convincing. Fortunately, Lord Beric Dondarrion was the next to speak. "Stannis may have the motivation to lie, but he never would in something like this," he said, "that man has a reputation for brutal honesty that wins him few friendships."

"My Lord," spoke up Lord Mallery, "_we_ trust _your_ judgment, yes... but can _you_ trust Lord _Stannis_' judgment on this matter?"

"I can," replied Ned, simply and starkly, "for I have confirmed with mine own eyes and ears this truth." The room fell silent as the men leaned closer in to hear what Ned had to say. He cleared his throat, and began at length: "I confronted Her Grace the Queen two days ago. Alyn and Tomard here accompanied me when I confronted Her Grace in the Godswood; they remained hidden from Her Grace's view for the entire duration of our conversation."

"Aye, 'tis true," spoke up Alyn, "I heard every word of it. I am sorry to say this, but Her Grace was rather forthcoming in confessing her adultery." Alyn did not disclose any further details than that, just as Ned had instructed him to.

Ned continued: "It is with great difficulty that I ask of you all now the things I am about to. But our duty to the Realm and to the King we swore to protect demands of me that I ask you all the same, and that you comply. Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen are the products of adultery by Her Grace the Queen Cersei Lannister, and thus their claim to the Throne is a fraudulent one. It can be no small coincidence that His Grace is slain merely a day after I revealed to Her Grace my knowledge of her crimes, and my intentions to disclose this truth to His Grace upon his return. As we speak, there is little doubt that Cersei will be marshaling her forces upon the news of His Grace's death, intent on taking the Throne for her Joffrey. We must not allow this to happen. For this reason, I have called upon the three of you, for I need men I can trust – good, honorable, and dutiful men. Together, we shall take command of the King's Landing Rifles, we shall secure the Throne, and we shall hold it until His Grace King Stannis Baratheon, First Of His Name, arrives to claim it. This is the mission I now formally charge upon each and every one of you, for the good of our Realm. May the King's Justice prevail."

The men traded glances with one another. And then Ser Wylde spoke: "so Lord Stannis is yet a few days away? Can we expect much in the way of resistance in the mean time?"

"Last I had heard, the Lannisters maintain a household guard here in the capital over 120 strong," answered Ned to the best of his knowledge, "I propose we bolster our own numbers here with a full company of the King's Landing Rifles – they are hardly a couple weeks in training, can hardly hold a rifle, but their their numbers will be useful for bulking up our own numbers. I hope that a show of strength will suffice, but if not, then we will have to depend on your riflery and spearmanship to compensate."

"My Lord, what of the remaining Baratheon banners?" asked Tomard, "Lords Stannis and Renly have no love for the Lions; perhaps they too will march with us?"

Lord Beric shook his head. "No, most of my fellow Stormlords are out with the Royal Hunting Party at this moment. It will be at least another day before they return."

"Aye," agreed Vayon, "and from what we have heard, Lord Renly and several of the Stormlords took off for parts unknown shortly after His Grace's death."

"Perhaps back to Storm's End?" asked Beric, "makes sense. The Lions would have seized the throne by the time he had gotten here, and they have no particular love for Renly, that much is known for certain."

"And what is to be done of Commander Slynt?" asked Lord Mallery.

"I have decided that Commander Slynt is not a man to be trusted," replied Ned, "that is why I have appointed him to lead the spear levies – I want no fire-arms under his command. And I have issued to him orders to secure the river docks – that should keep him occupied for the rest of today."

"Speak of the Stranger, and he will appear," shouted a voice from outside the door that Ned recognized and dreaded to hear. It was precisely that of Lord-Commander Janos Slynt. It continued: "open up, Lord Stark. His Grace King Joffrey Baratheon, First Of His Name, King Of The Andals, The Rhoynar, And The First Men, Lord Of The Seven Kingdoms And Protector Of The Realm, commands your presence in the Throne Room immediately – _alone_ would be preferable."

Ned and his men froze for a second.

"Father! What is going on?" came a voice from the stairwell. Ned looked to see Sansa rushing down the stairs, a look of mixed fear and confusion on her face. "My dear husband-to-be is sending a... _an army_ to our front door! Oh, what can it mean, father?"

Ned strode to the window and looked out. His heart sank.

Gathered outside in the castle bailey, arranged in two orderly lines... stood forty uniformed riflemen of the King's Landing First Rifles... and this was just the first group. Coming up right behind them was another group, a mix of new riflemen and the regular spearmen of the City Watch, slowly streaming in through the arch, but they looked to be about a hundred of them at least. Uniformed officers on horseback – many of whom Ned noted, to his chagrin, were among those he took no personal liking to – rode back and forth along the shambling rabble of infantry, barking orders.

And at end of the courtyard, Ned's heart sank further at the sight that greeted him. In one of the arches there was a team of Goldcloak levies hauling in a... a _12-pounder cannon_.

"Lord Stark!" shouted the voice of Janos Slynt again, from wherever he was taking cover, "when His Grace The King says 'immediately', he means _immediately_! I'm giving you a minute to comply, 'else you shall be declared a traitor for disobeying your King! That's sixty seconds, in case you were wondering!"

_I've been fooled_, thought Ned in despair, furious at himself, _I created an army to serve Robert, and now it shall serve Joffrey_. He looked up at the men around him as they all looked to him for guidance, and he looked too at Sansa, who was nearly in tears. He cleared his throat and spoke as clearly as he could: "this is it then. Brothers... we have lost. I will not have you all throw your lives away for my failure. I will surrender myself to the custody of... _King_ Joffrey," (he struggled to speak that last part), "perhaps that way, he will be more forgiving and lenient to the rest of you."

"Lord Stark," spoke Lord Dondarrion, getting to his feet. He drew his sword. "We all know Prince Joffrey too well to know what his idea of 'forgiveness and leniency' is. I scarcely doubt I will be treated any better simply for the crime of being one of your 'trusted men'. I say go... go now to the King... the _true king_, King Stannis Baratheon. Go now... whatever way you can... and we shall hold them off best we can."

"As shall I," chimed in Lord Mallery.

Ned did not know what to say. But all the same, he nodded his head in silent acknowledgement of the sacrifices these men, these loyal and true and honorable men, were prepared to make. He had chosen well to bring them here after all...

**_BOOOOM_** came the rumbling sound from outside, and almost immediately, there was a great **_CRASH_** as the entire tower shuddered from the impact. The room seemed to explode into chaos and smoke and dust and fragments of stone and broken masonry and wooden splinters. Ned was thrown onto the floor from the vibrations that shook the tower.

Ned's head was splitting from the noise, and his stomach ached and burned in the place where the Kingslayer had stabbed him, but he climbed to his feet all the same and looked around. His first thought was to his daughter. He saw Sansa there by the stairs. Thank the Old Gods and the New, she was alright, though shaken and screaming in fright. Ned turned to survey the rest of the carnage around him. A great gaping hole had been torn in the wall, through which Ned could see the courtyard below. Crumbling masonry and splintered wood lay everywhere. Five of the Winterfell men lay dead or dying, and another two were on the ground, nursing their bleeding wounds.

"WHAT IN SEVEN BLOODY HELLS ARE YOU DOING?!" roared the enraged voice of Commander Slynt from outside. "OUR ORDERS ARE TO BRING LORD STARK IN ALIVE! THE CANNON IS ONLY THERE FOR SHOW! ARE YOU DIMWITS TRYING TO TEAR THE RED KEEP APART?! AND WHO GAVE YOU THE ORDER TO FIRE ANYWAY?!"

"S-S-Sorry s-sir!" stammered the young artillery corporal from the back of the courtyard, "one of the-the-the artillery b-b-boys tripped up and... yanked the lanyard by accident and..."

"WHY IS THE CANNON EVEN LOADED THEN?!" retorted Commander Slynt, "YOU IDIOTS!"

Ned took a moment to glance out through the hole in the wall. At least three of the Goldcloaks had been marching in front of the cannon when it was accidentally discharged – well, _at least _three judging from the blood and body parts now splattered all around the courtyard. Some of the troops standing nearby too were in disarray, but the rest of the assembled forces stood firm. _They are inexperienced_... Ned reminded himself ..._I wonder if that makes them more or less dangerous_. "Tomard," he muttered to his Winterfell guardsmen who was just getting to his feet, "teach these effeminate Southrons the meaning of Northern steel and training."

"Yes my Lord," replied Tomard. He stood up, presented his fire-arm, took aim, and fired.

**_BANG_**.

"Ahhh!" screamed one of the King's Landing Rifles as Tom's shot found its mark on his chest. The soldier, a young boy from Flea Bottom, hardly a man, drawn to the King's Landing First Rifles by the promise of pay and glory, collapsed onto the ground, his blood forming a growing puddle around him. His companions on either side and behind him did not seem to take too well to his death.

**_BANG_** came the second shot, fired by Durand, another Winterfell rifleman. One of the uniformed horseback officers crumpled back as the bullet shot right through his cuirass. The horse reared up in panic, and his body fell to the ground.

**_BANG! BANG! BANG_** roared the rest of the Winterfell guard – only nine men left, but they fired like an entire army, helped greatly by the couple months of training advantage they had over the Goldrifles. All around the courtyard, Goldcloaks began to drop to the ground.

"SHIT!" roared the voice of Commander Slynt, "OKAY, NOW YOU CAN FIRE! FIRE! FIRE, GODS DAMN IT! WHAT ARE YOU IDIOTS WAITING FOR?!"

By the time the shocked Goldrifles had rallied and responded, the Winterfell guards had fired their first volley and taken cover again to reload. The assembled Goldcloaks outside returned fire, making up for their lack of training or precision with sheer volume. To be entirely fair and to Commander Slynt's credit, this too worked: at least three of the Winterfell spears and one of the rifles were struck by rounds flying in from outside, ricocheting off the thick stone walls.

Having reloaded, the fire-armsmen of the North emerged from their cover and exchanged a second volley in retaliation. More of the outside troops fell, but it was hardly a dent in their numbers.

"My Liege!" called Alyn, "we can hold perhaps a single platoon, but they will bring more, and our ammunition will not last forever. You must go now, my Liege!"

"Aye, but where to?" shouted Ned back, "we are in a _tower_, and they have us _surrounded_."

At that moment, Ned heard a voice calling for him from upstairs. It was Arya. "Father!" she shouted, accompanied by the barking and howling of the direwolves, "father! You must come quickly! Nymeria has found something!"

"Go now, my liege!" shouted Alyn, "it has been an honor to serve you."

Ned said nothing. He saluted his loyal bannerman, and fled, ascending the stairs as fast his legs could carry him. His healed wounds from the Kingslayer still hurt like all the Hells of both the Old Gods and the New, but he ran for the dear life of himself and his daughters, and for the sake of the men who were giving their lives for him.

He continued to hear the cracking of rifle fire from below as his Winterfell guards traded blows with the treacherous Goldcloaks. He could also hear the screaming and agonized cries of men as they were struck, but he kept moving. And then, there came a muffled **_CRASH_** from below.

"They're trying to ram down the door!" shouted Beric Dondarrion from down below.

There was a second **_CRASH_**, and this time, it was followed by the enraged shouts and battle cries of the Goldcloaks storming the lower atrium. _They've broken through_, thought Ned. Sure enough, he heard a half-dozen more fire-arms discharged before the clashing of swords and shattering of spears came. _I should be down there with my men_. Almost instinctively, he gripped the pommel of his great broadsword, Ice... _no, your duty is here: to get your daughters to safety, and to get to your King_.

Ned scaled the last few steps until he had reached the top landing of the tower. There, he found Arya, Sansa, and the direwolves waiting for him, as were Vayon and Jeyne Poole, and, Ned noted, Arya's dancing instructor, Syrio Forel. "Lord Stark," spoke the Braavosi in his Free Cities accent and bowing his head respectfully, "you must be very proud of your daughter." He beckoned towards an opening in the wall that Ned had never seen before.

Ned was as shocked and baffled as he was relieved with the find. He knew of the old stories – of the vast network of underground tunnels and secret passageways beneath the Red Keep, and the many, many dark secrets they harbored. And it now dawned on him too that perhaps someone had been using these same passageways to spy on him. But now was not the time to ponder these things – if it looked to be a way out, that was enough for him. "Good work, Arya!" smiled Ned, embracing his daughter and kissing her. Perhaps the day the direwolves had come to them had been a gift from the Old Gods after all...

"Oh father, you cannot be serious!" piped up Sansa, "we cannot go that way! It's dark and it smells terrible! Oh please, this must be a misunderstanding! My Joffrey would never..."

"I shall explain later," Ned cut her off, "Arya, you and Nymeria seem to know these passageways best. You shall take the lead. I shall go next and..." He frowned. "Where are Septa Mordane and the others?"

"If they are not with us now, they shan't be coming at all," replied Vayon, "I am so sorry, my Liege, but there is no time. I can hear the Lions fighting their way up the stairs as we speak."

"Very well," sighed Ned, sadly. And with that, the party of three men, three girls, and two direwolves disappeared into the dark tunnel, sealing the passageway behind them...


	79. Arya 2

_This was a hard chapter to write, because a beloved character dies today, just so that you're all prepared._

* * *

**Arya (II)  
**

The tunnel ahead was narrow and dark and seemed to stretch for miles and miles. Twisted and grotesque shapes and shadows loomed in the darkness, reminding her of those great bones of the old Targaryen Kings and their dragons that she had once seen, or of those mighty beasts called "dinosaurs" that appeared in some of the Sky-People's moving pictures. Every hundred feet or so, more tunnels would branch out from the sides – where they led, she knew not. But she trusted her instinct, she trusted her dear direwolf companion, and she trusted the little white "flashlight" on her "MyPhone" that cut through the darkness ahead and shown them the way forward.

Arya Stark felt many things at that moment: shock and confusion, for all that had transpired thus far that day... fear, for whatever yet lay ahead of them... hatred, for that monstrous Prince Joffrey, who had brought all of this upon them... and regret, for Alyn and Tomard and all the other brave men of Winterfell she had known for so long, who had now given their lives so that they may have this one small chance at escape. But she also felt pride, for what she and Nymeria had done today. Thanks to her, they had a chance for freedom, however small it was. All of those long days they had spent snooping and meandering about the Red Keep, all those lessons in dancing and catching of cats... it had all paid off. At least for now.

"Good girl!" whispered Arya as she stroked the head of her canine companion. Nymeria barked in response. They had never been down this particular tunnel before, but somehow, the direwolf led the way forward as if guided by instinct, knowing deep down that somewhere ahead of them lay their means of escaping this accursed city, and of seeing home again. Whether it truly was there or not, there was simply no going back, no choice but to keep pushing forward.

Arya was certainly taking this unexpected journey better than her sister, and little Jeyne Poole too, who moaned and complained to no end, though for once, Arya could not fault them for it. After all, like her sister, Arya herself knew next to nothing of the reasons for their hasty departure, only that Joffrey was now king, and had ordered their father be arrested, and possibly them too. Arya never liked that spoilt brat, but this whole situation was just so completely unexpected.

Nymeria suddenly stopped. She and Lady both began to growl. "What is it girl?" asked Arya. Somehow, instinctively, she reach for Needle – the blade that hung by her side was the only thing she had thought to take with her as they made their escape from the Tower.

And then, the next thing Arya knew, both wolves had turned around and were barking like mad, their howls echoing up and down the tunnels. Lady stayed by Sansa's side, protective of her master, but Nymeria surged forward, barking and snapping wildly at something, or someone, who lay concealed in the blackness just behind them.

Arya spun around and shone her small light back in the direction from whence they came, and that was when she saw the two men who had appeared out of nowhere. The first man yelled in surprise when Nym reared up and pounced on him, biting into his neck; Arya could almost swear she could almost taste his blood. The second man, shocked too, turned to help his companion; he raised his dagger, ready to stab the direwolf... only to scream out in pain when a sword was suddenly thrust into his back from behind.

"Valar Morghulis," muttered Syrio Forel, quietly and calmly; with all the skill and finesse of a water dancer, he had managed to sneak up behind the man before anyone else could notice. He pulled his blade out of the man's back, watched as the body crumpled to the ground, and then he turned back to face the rest of the group. "Honorable Lord Stark," he began, politely, in his Braavosi accent, "my apologies, but it would appear that we are being followed."

Ned did not respond, but instead strode up to the first man and pointed his greatsword Ice at him. "For whom do you work?" he commanded. The man said nothing. Arya shone her light upon him; he was dead, his throat ripped open by Nymeria, who now stood over him, greedily lapping up the man's blood. Sansa gasped and looked away from the carnage.

"Lord Stark," spoke up Syrio, politely again but more quickly and urgently this time, "whomever these men may have served in life... I can hear several more of their kind approaching. You must run to safety; I shall remain here and take care of our followers."

"No!" cried Arya, "you can't! Syrio, we need you!"

The Braavosi First Sword, however, only smiled in response. He knelt down and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Do you remember," he asked, "what is the name of the one and only god? And do you remember what one says to him?"

Arya was almost in tears, but she nodded all the same. "Not today," she whispered.

Her dancing instructor looked at her for a moment, then smiled and bowed his head respectfully, and then he got to his feet, turned around, and disappeared into the darkness.

"Arya, we must keep moving," spoke her father, breaking the silence. And so they pushed on, though Arya and the others could hear some ways behind them the fighting that had broken out in the darkness, the clanging of blades and the confused and panicked shouts of the men who had been following them. Whatever it was Syrio was up to, he must have been doing a pretty good job of it.

The group began to quicken their pace. Even Sansa and Jeyne too it seems had either forgotten to complain, swept up as they were in the terror and exhilaration of the moment. Arya silently admitted that she had to commend her sister for how fast she could run.

And sure enough, at long last, up ahead there lay a light. The light at the end of the tunnel. Where did it emerge out onto? Back into the Red Keep, or out into the middle of the city, with Joffrey's soldiers marching around? Out to sea, where their only escape would be to swim to safety? Or, Arya hoped, out in the Kingswood, where they could at least hide from their pursuers amongst the trees?

And even then, once they were out of the city, what next? Where would they run? Back home to Winterfell, o'er a thousand miles away? With no food and no coin on them? To Aunt Lysa in the Vale, or to Uncle Edmure at Riverrun? To Stannis on Dragonstone, whom she had heard her father muttering so much about, or perhaps south to Storm's End, to Renly? Arya was a tough and resourceful person, but even she was daunted by the journey that lay before them, and how would they manage with Sansa and Jeyne in tow? _No_, she scolded herself, _whatever else happens, she is your sister, and you will not leave her behind_...

Lady began to snarl and howl like mad, and little Jeyne Poole screamed. Arya turned around. Her little white light shown Jeyne there, clutched in the embrace of a man – a grubby little man dressed in rags; he must have been waiting in a side tunnel, well ahead of them. Before anyone else could react, Lady was already on him, biting the man in his right leg. The man yelled in pain, and let go of Jeyne; he promptly tried to kick the wolf off him with his other leg, missed, and comically fell onto the stone floor. Lady continued to bite and maul him, but another man came charging out of the darkness and kicked her, prompting a yelp from her.

**_Clang_** rang the sound of what could have only have been Ice clashing against the stone walls as Arya's father swung the great sword about, and then drove it into the heart of someone she could not see, but who could only be one of their pursuers. And then the walls themselves seemed to come alive as more men emerged from their cover.

"Take them alive!" shouted a hoarse voice she did not recognize, "the master needs them alive! Take them aliv... uh!" The voice was cut off and the smell of fresh blood made palpable as Eddard Stark thrust Ice towards its source.

Arya did not think, she simply acted, guided by impulse. She drew Needle and jabbed it into the man closest her whom she was sure was not either her father nor Jeyne's. The man jumped back, hollering in pain; Needle had found its mark, and Arya now knew from his voice that it was no-one she particularly cared for.

And so she lunged forward and jabbed Needle again, and this time she did not stop – this time, she drove her blade as deeply as it would go, sinking into the meat of his gut until it would go no further. Like her direwolf, Arya screamed and howled madly, fighting off the man's flailing arms and legs and desperate attempts to throw her away. And when at last he stopped moving, it was then that it dawned on her: she had killed a man for the first time ever. It would not be her last.

But all around her, the chaos continued, the dark underground chamber coming alive with the whirring about of shadows and shapes, screaming and howling and the maddened growls of the direwolves, all illuminated only by the little white light of Arya's gift from the Sky-People, and a couple of flaming torches carried by two of their assailants.

Before she could lunge again, one of their attackers grabbed her by the wrist of her sword hand so tightly that she dropped Needle. Arya struggled and screamed and kicked and yelled, but the man's grip on her hand only tightened. She was exhausted, a young girl struggling against a grown man, but as he carried her off into the shadows, he stopped.

"Not today!" came a familiar voice out of the darkness. There was a quick slash and the smell of fresh blood drawn, and Arya felt the grip on her loosen. With a final burst of energy, she broke free from her captor's arms and turned around, only to see him collapse onto the ground. And standing just behind him stood a form that, even in this darkness, Arya knew belonged to only one man...

"Syrio?" she gasped.

A man said nothing, but instead held out an arm and helped a girl to her feet. "The rest have fled," spoke the Braavosi, "but they have taken your sister with them. I was too late. I am sorry."

_Sansa!_ Arya looked around her wildly. One of the direwolves, Nymeria probably, stood next to her, looking up to her as if expecting orders. Her father was alright too, exhausted but alive, but Ice was running red with blood. Vayon and Jeyne too looked to be alright, though both were deeply shaken from the fight. But her sister was nowhere to be seen. Who could be seen, though, were several bodies of the raggedy men who had attacked them, laying all about. And then, some twenty feet away, lay another body. _Lady_, thought Arya at first, and she rushed forward to comfort the poor creature in her dying moments. But when she looked down at her side, she found out just how wrong she was. The direwolf that was following her was _Lady_. Which could only mean...

The realization hit her like a stone, and Arya felt like part of her soul had died at that moment. She sank to her knees, and cried out in despair.


	80. The Kingspost 3

**THE KINGSPOST **  
_Ye Moste Reliable And Accurate Source o' Newse in Yon Sevene Kingdomse!_  
Volume 1 – Issue 4 – Septembere 14th, 298 A.C. – 5 Copper Groats

**STOP PRESS: TREASONE IN THY CAPITAL!  
Lord Hand Eddard Stark hath conspireth and attempteth to overthrow our beloved King!**

K.L. - A most vile and horrendous treason was preventeth today thanks in large part to the most heroic efforts o' thy City Watch, under ye command o' ye ever-noble Lord-Commander Janos Slynt. No sooner hath ye news arriveth in thy capital o' His Grace King Robert O' House Baratheon, First O' His Name's most untimely and tragic death, when ye traitorous Hand O' The King and instigator o' His Grace's demise, Lord Eddard o' House Stark, seteth in motion his ambitions to seizeth ye Iron Throne for himself!

Fortunately, and in a most expedient and timely manner, Lord Slynt caught wind o' this treason, and immediately informed His Grace, our beloved new King Joffrey o' House Baratheon, First O' His Name. Under thy King's order, Lord Slynt and ye loyal King's Landing First Rifles tracked down ye traitorous Lord Hand and his co-conspirators to ye Tower O' The Hand, where a great battle unfoldeth between ye loyalist forces, and ye vile traitors, who hath been killede to ye last man.

Verily, it is now believeth that ye Lord-Traitor Stark not only instigateth ye death o' our beloved late King Robert, but was also behindeth ye infamous "Purple Feast", where he so brazenly and cowardly attempted to poison our noble and handsome King Joffrey and our beautiful Queen Cersei and our loyal Kingsguard Ser Jaime o' House Lannister! If t'were true, than t'is also possible that ye former Master O' Coin Lord Petyr Baelish hath been most wrongly accused and charged in yon matter, and thus is but only a victim o' ye Lord Hand's blatant act o' _lese majeste_.

Ye evidence is also now clear that ye traitorous Hand did not acteth alone in his crime: together with the men o' Winterfell were found ye bodies o' Lords Beric Dondarrion and Lothar Mallery o' the Stormlands, and Ser Gladden Wylde o' the Crownlands. All these pointeth to a much larger conspiracy, members o' which could still be hiding amongst thou, ye goode and law-abidin' people o' thy city, right now as we speak! It is up to thou to assist your new King loyally in informing on thy neighbors and rooting out this dissent wherever it be foundeth.

I, Lord Phineas O' House Edgerton, Editor-In-Chief o' _The Kingspost_, now calleth upon all our loyal readers to stand together with thy beloved King and show solidarity and caution in this time o' national crisis. Long live His Grace King Joffrey o' House Baratheon, First O' His Name, King O' Ye Andals, Ye Rhoynar, And Yon First Men, Lorde O' Ye Sevene Kingdomse And Protector O' Ye Realme!

_**Chataya's Brothel**__: ye finest and moste reputable establishmente in all yon Capital! A young maiden's maidenhead can be yours for as little as a single Gold Dragon! Thou should booketh thy appointment today! Tuesdays and Wednesdays are half-off days._

_**John The Honest's Used Wagon Dealership**__: come one, come all to ye noble wagon dealership of John The Honest, ye most honest and reliable dealer o' wheeled forms o' transportation in all yon Sevene Kingdomse! We haveth it all, from ye simplest two-wheeled fishmonger's cart, to ye most large and palatial forty-horse wheelhouses!  
_

* * *

"The content is all well and good; it is the presentation thereof that I find not quite to my liking," fumed Littlefinger, "why is this a separate page? Surely a _coup_ of all things would be worthy of the front-page headlines?"

"Yes, about that, my lord," began Olyvar, uneasily, "Lord Edgerton, eager as he is, had already started on the prints by the time I had gotten the story to him, and so he thought it would be better to include the coup on an added insert within the paper rather than reprinting the front-pages all over again... saves time and money that way."

"Well, I suppose if we are to meet the deadlines for tomorrow morning's circulation, I should not complain too much..." seethed Littlefinger, sarcastically. "But all the same, perhaps I should remind Lord Phineas that while turning a profit is all fine and dandy, it is only secondary to our primary objectives... objectives with which, quite frankly, I am rather displeased at this moment."

"My lord," spoke Olyvar, defensively, "I do not understand it. We... we knew the Braavosi fellow would be trouble, yes... but the dogs..."

"The '_dogs_'?" seethed the Former Master Of Coin, "a direwolf is not a dog, good sir, as I have stated before, though you all seem to have forgotten that. I hope that today's little lesson will have impressed this upon you and the others for good. Tell me, how many men did we lose?"

"eleven... twelve... uh, _thirteen_, sir," stammered his protege.

"And the rest all injured to varying degrees," fumed Baelish, "Fortunately for us, most of them were little more than hired scum we picked up off the alleyways of Flea Bottom, and at least that's thirteen less hands to be paid for their services. But still, thirteen dead and only Sansa Stark to show for our efforts?"

"We... did kill one of the direwolves..."

"Ah, _a direwolf!_" sneered Baelish, "excellent! We managed to kill just _one_ of their direwolves! What a fantastic achievement. I daresay that must be a new record for us."

"It... it will not happen again, my lord," replied the understudy, apologetically, "as we speak, Ned and the others must have reached the Kingswood by now. They have no horses and no coin; it should be easy for us to track them down and..."

But Littlefinger promptly cut him off. "That will do, thank you very much. I have expended enough time and resource into this venture, let our new Boy King take care of the rest. Just please, for the love of the Seven, do not make a habit out of today's failure. I would rather have Ned and Arya Stark too in our captivity next time."

"Yes, my lord. So... what now? Shall we hand over the Stark girl to the Crown? Once the new king dismisses the charges against you, we all can at last come out of hiding."

"I think I shall hold off on that for now," replied Baelish calmly, "with the situation as it is, perhaps we shall continue to lay low and see what happens. One should never be too hasty in deciding with whom to cast their lots. As it stands, this war may bring a few surprises yet – fate and chance can be such fickle mistresses, after all. In the mean time, please do make sure that Lady Stark is well accommodated – she will be of great value to me, I am certain."


	81. Timeline 5

**TIMELINE 5: The Battle Of Outpost B, King's Landing Coup, And The Targaryen Affair****  
**

**Late Dec, 297 A.C. / Early Jan 298 A.C.  
Free City of Pentos, Essos  
**+Daenerys Targaryen marred to Khal Drogo. Khalassar departs Pentos the next day.

**Day20: May10, 298 A.C.  
Near the Free City of Qohor, Essos  
**+On the occasion of her 14th birthday, Dany learns that she is pregnant.

**Day50: Jun09  
City of Vaes Dothrak, Dothraki Sea, Essos  
**+Drogo's Khalassar arrives after spending 6 months trekking across Essos.

**Day96: Jul25  
King's Landing, Crownlands  
**+In retaliation for the poisoning attempt made on Joffrey, Cersei, and Jaime, believed to have been the work of Targaryen loyalists, King Robert orders an assassin dispatched to Essos to kill Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen. Due to distances and travel times involved, the assassin is expected to arrive in Vaes Dothrak in three months at the earliest.

**Day118: Aug16  
****King's Landing  
**+Falcon04 arrives in the capital, hauling a special cargo: a load of rifles, ammunition crates, new uniforms, and other equipment - this will be the first of several shipments of new equipment for the newly formed "King's Landing First Rifles". Also included among the shipment is special gift for the Crown: a printing press. King Robert entrusts this special gift to the care and responsibility of the ever dutiful Lord Phineas Edgerton...

**Day119: Aug17  
****Autumn's Frontier, The North  
**+Samwell Tarly arrives at Autumn's Frontier, seeking a new life after having been forced to leave his home in the Reach by his father, Lord Randyll Tarly. Sam's literacy sets him apart from the other applicants, and thus immediately earns him a spot in the procurement office. In the name of providing an "equal opportunity workplace" (and thus looking good on their annual report), the management has decided to begin offering lower-tier white collar positions to any natives who can demonstrate the requisite literacy and willingness to learn new skills.

**Day120: Aug18  
****Autumn's Frontier  
**+William Hicks, Head of the Ground Survey Team, is transferred to Planet EE-L5. Surveyor Kamran Tahir is promoted to fill his office. Around this time, Robin Van Der Merwe is transferred in from EE-L0. His firsthand experience of magical phenomena on L0 has earned him the unofficial position of the EE-L4 team's resident expert on thaumaturgy. Also arriving today are several new thaumometers, fresh off the production line on EE-L0, as replacements for the existing thaumometers on EE-L4, which are believed to be defective.

**Day122: Aug20  
****King's Landing  
**+The first issue of _The Kingspost_, Westeros' first ever regular news publication, hits shelves throughout the capital to great fanfare; although the literacy rate in KL is only around 2% or so, nevertheless, the paper's circulation of approximately one thousand copies sells out within the day.

**Day123: Aug21  
****King's Landing**  
+Essosi merchant Cyalaes Of Myr reports record sales of his "Legendary Dornish Snake Oil", his new (alleged) virility and fertility-enhancing, erectile dysfunction-curing medication derived from only the freshest and highest quality poisonous snakes imported straight from Dorne. Other prominent KL businessmen begin lining up to advertise their wares in _The Kingspost_.

**Day124: Aug22  
Autumn's Frontier  
**+The new thaumometers continue to detect higher-than-normal magic levels, proving that the original ones weren't defective at all, and there is something strongly magical located near to the colony. Daniel agrees to join the Survey Team the next day to investigate the source of these anomalies.

**Day125: Aug23 (Feb03 in Earth calendar)  
****Site B5467, Approx. 12 miles NE of Autumn's Frontier**  
+Early Morning: Daniel Zimmerman departs with Tahir, Danvers, and Van Der Merwe on an expedition to identify the source of recently detected thaumic anomalies. With the aid of a light recon UAV equipped with a thaumometer, they are able to trace the source to Grid Reference B5467.  
+_Mid-Morning_: ground-penetrating radar and ultrasound scans reveal the existence of a large underground complex, of seven smaller chambers surrounding a central atrium. "Site B5467" is believed to have been a construct of the civilization known as "the First Men", and is found to be exuding high levels of thaumic radiation. Fred and Daniel decide to excavate the site.  
+_Late Morning_: dig teams and equipment are trucked to Site B5467 from the main colony. An 80m long access tunnel is excavated within hours. Meanwhile, prefabricated units, tents, and floodlights are set up at the site for purposes of studying the find. The area is designated "Outpost B".  
+_Afternoon_: With the assistance of Cpl. Snow, the would-be archaeologists are able to access the underground chamber and discover, to their great surprise, the preserved remains of dozens of human bodies, as well as four dormant Cryohumans aka "Others / White Walkers". For reasons as yet unknown, the other three chambers are empty.  
+_Evening_: three of the Cryohuman specimens, designated Specimens WW01, WW02, and WW03, are retrieved and brought to the surface. The fourth, Specimen WW04, is left underground to be retrieved later on.  
+_Night_: **The Battle Of Outpost B**. By some unknown process, the removal of Specimens WW01, WW02, and WW03 "awakens" and draws in a horde of a thousand Necrohominid "Wights" buried/preserved at a second site, Site B8621, located approx. 4 miles east of Site B5467. The horde of the undead converges on Outpost B. While the outpost garrison of 15 troops (5 UNCDF Marines + 9 militiamen + 1 civilian worker operating a HULK Unit) under the command of Sgt. Hawthorne initially puts up a heroic defense, it isn't long before the attacking forces' overwhelming numbers prove too much even for modern firearms and grenades. The garrison and outpost personnel fall back to the central lab where it is found that all of the Specimens are awake. The three creatures are swiftly dispatched, though not without losses to the outpost personnel. At long last, reinforcements from the main colony arrive and relieve the siege.  
+Concurrent to the surface engagement, a separate battle occurred underground as the Wights buried there are awakened by Specimen WW04. Fred narrowly survives a close brush with death at the hands of WW04, saved only at the last minute by VENI.  
+The final casualty list is as follows: 5 KIA and 9 WIA. All of the dead are promptly cremated due to the risk of "Wightification".

**Day126: Aug24  
****Autumn's Frontier  
**+Due to Fred's incapacitation, Daniel assumes directorship of the colony; Chief Eng. Kelsey Trevino assumes the office of Asst.-Dir.  
+Following the Battle Of Outpost B, recon drones are sent out to search for the source of the attacking forces of the previous night, and discover Site B8621, now believed to have been the site of an ancient battle between the First Men and the Cryohumans.

**Winterfell  
**+Robb Stark is surprised and annoyed by the news of the Battle Of Outpost B, not least of all because the revelation of the existence of the White Walkers raises a serious security matter for all of the North, and Robb will now be forced to divide his army between dealing with the Lannisters and protecting the North against any further incursions by the undead.

**Day127: Aug25  
****Autumn's Frontier  
**+Fred awakens from his medically-induced coma. He resolves to turn over a new leaf, and his first act will be to rescue Daenerys and Viserys Targaryen, both from King Robert's assassins, and from (what he perceives to be) their current "imprisonment" at the hands of Khal Drogo.  
+A memorial service is held to honor Pvt. Pypar and the others KIA during the Battle Of Outpost B.

**Day128: Aug26  
Winterfell  
**+With renovations of the Broken Tower complete, Robb Stark officially opens the "Academy Of The North", delivering the inaugural address to the fifty or so sons and daughters of the North's top noble families. Among those enrolled in the Academy's first class are: Wylla Manderly, Alys Karstark, Lyra Mormont, Beth Cassel, Meera and Jojen Reed, Ethan and Talia Forrester, Cley Cerwyn, Petyr and Wanda Mollen, and Ramsay Snow.

**Day129: Aug27  
Autumn's Frontier  
**+Fred, while still in hospital, prepares and files a proposal for a secret mission to Essos. Fred genuinely believes he is doing a noble thing in rescuing the Targaryens both from an assassination attempt, and from what he perceives to be a "barbaric culture". However, he presents it to the management as "acquisition of political assets to further The Company™'s agenda" as well as a "humanitarian expedition" that could generate positive PR for The Company™. The proposal is approved by Director Jonathan Teller, and VENI is assigned to assist in the operation.

**Day130  
King's Landing  
**+As part of the expansion of the Goldcloaks and introduction of the KL Rifles, King Robert begins appointing a number of lords and knights from throughout the Crownlands and Stormlands to serve as officers in this new army, including Lord Beric Dondarrion.  
**Winterfell  
**+The First Army Corps of Engineers departs Winterfell and marches south for Moat Cailin, under the command of Lieutenant-Colonel Hallis Mollen. Their mission: to repair and restore the fortifications and causeways through the Neck, as this will be a vital strongpoint for the North if and when the war finally comes.

**Day133: Aug31  
Autumn's Frontier  
**+The act of locating Daenerys Targaryen proves to be a simple and straightforward one, as Fred and VENI already knew that Dany was married to Drogo, and a horde of 40,000 Dothraki is a relatively easy target for a satellite in orbit to spot. That, and Dany's unique Targaryen appearance, as well as being one of the few token white people in the Khalassar, makes her stand out from the rest of Drogo's horde.  
+Fred, Daniel, Kelsey, and VENI agree on a plan of action: Fred and VENI will infiltrate the city, with VENI posing as a Westerosi knight while Fred poses as her squire. Plan A is to ask nicely for Dany's release, offering to buy her from the Khal. Should the Khal refuse this offer, Plan B is to appeal to the Dothraki's cultural acceptance of violence as a legitimate means of dispute resolution and challenge the Khal to a duel for the right to keep Dany. Plan C is to just straight-up kidnap her. After consultation with their lawyer, Sarah Carson, it is decided that all of these courses of action *may* be permissible under the UNASEC Code.

**Day134: Sept01  
Winter Town  
**+With the assistance of several Essosi merchants and interpreters visiting the North at the time to trade goods, VENI begins developing an "English-Dothraki dictionary" that will be useful not only for her upcoming mission, but also for any and all future interactions between The Company™ and the Dothraki.

**Day139: Sept6  
Autumn's Frontier  
**+After two weeks in recovery and rehab and getting coked up on fantastic future drugs, Fred is cleared and declared fit for service, though he is advised to avoid any physically strenuous activities for a while.

**Day142: Sept09  
King's Landing  
**+Ned receives a letter sent by courier, ostensibly sent by Lord Stannis Baratheon himself, in which the Master Of Ships outlines his suspicions over the actual parentage of King Robert's alleged children. The letter also claims that Stannis himself is coming to KL and will be arriving in a few days. Ned is shocked to say the least, but dutifully decides to follow up on this on accusation.

**Day144: Sept11  
King's Landing  
**+Ned Stark confronts Queen Cersei over allegations of her infidelity to King Robert, to which the Queen admits, but then attempts to seduce Ned. Ned rejects her advances, and then discloses to her that he is giving her and her children time until King Robert's return from his hunting trip.

**Day145: Sept12  
The Kingswood  
**+King Robert is fatally injured during a shooting accident when his shotgun backfires violently due to a squibbed round that had gotten lodged in the barrel. The blowback from the shot causes the rear of the gun to explode violently, showering the King's face and neck with razor-sharp shrapnel. Lancel Lannister and Ser Barristan Selmy, who were standing in close proximity to the King at the time, also suffered minor lacerations from the blast.  
+Lord Renly Baratheon grieves for his brother, but also seems to realize that the news of this incident will reach KL before they do, and the Lannisters will have consolidated power by then. Renly decides to gather his banners and make south for Storm's End instead of returning to the capital.

**Day146: Sept13  
King's Landing  
**+_Morning_: after hearing a concerned delegation from the Riverlands, Ned Stark issues a summons to Lord Tywin Lannister, that he may come to the capital and explain the Westerlands' sudden militarization before the Royal Court.  
+_Noon_: Master Of Coin Tyrion Lannister's appeal to dismiss the warrant pending for his brother Ser Jaime's arrest is turned down; Ned expresses his sympathies but asserts that the law must be enforced, and Jaime must stand trial.  
+_Early Afternoon_: news of King Robert's death arrives in the capital. Ned suspects that Cersei was behind it, and immediately decides to seize power to prevent Joffrey's rise to the Throne.  
+_Mid Afternoon_: **The King's Landing Coup**. Ned summons several officers of the KL Rifles whom he has identified as loyal and honorable, these being Beric Dondarrion, Lothar Mallery, and Gladden Wylde. He explains to these men and to his own Winterfell men the task before them and the reasons for Joffrey's illegitimacy. During this time, however, Joffrey has already usurped the throne and ordered Lord-Commander Slynt to arrest Lord Stark under suspicion of treason against the Crown. Slynt and 200 men of the Royal Army converge on the Tower Of The Hand, but Stark and his 40 men resist. A fierce firefight breaks out, with heavy losses on both sides. At long last, Slynt's army prevails and overwhelms the defenders, cutting them down to the last man, but by then, Lord Stark and his daughters have disappeared. Their current whereabouts remain unknown.

**Day147: Sept14  
King's Landing  
**+In order to capitalize on the buzz generated by the coup, Lord Edgerton releases Issue 4 of _The Kingspost_ three days ahead of schedule. As predicted, the entire stock of printed material sells out in record time.  
+The new King Joffrey Baratheon, First Of His Name, as one of his first acts as King, issues an official list of _proscriptions_ for a number of elements within the King's Landing socio-political scene whom he deems to be disloyal.

**Day148: Sept15  
King's Landing  
**+Although _The Kingspost_ is meant to be a _weekly_ publication, nonetheless, Lord Edgerton releases Issue 5 just the day after Issue 4, again, to publish tabloid stories on the coup and capitalize on the media buzz surrounding this political upheaval, and also to collect on a commission from the Crown to help publish and circulate the Royal Proscriptions. The next few days will see a wave of violence throughout the capital as perceived enemies of the Crown are proscribed, informed on by their neighbors, beaten, dragged into the street, or have their shop windows smashed in.  
+Essosi merchant Cyalaes Of Myr is found dead in an alleyway. Rumors abound as to the exact cause of death, with some believing that Lord-Commander Slynt may have killed the man himself, displeased with his products and acting under the guise of enforcing the Crown's proscriptions. The most widely accepted theory, however, is that Cyalaes was cornered by a mob of angry customers, beaten up, tortured, and then forced to drink his own product until he finally died from it.

**Day149: Sept16  
Free City of Braavos, Essos  
**+En route to the Dothraki Sea, Falcon04 makes a brief stopover in Braavos, landing several miles away from the city in a hidden spot so as not to draw too much attention to itself. Fred and VENI proceed to the city on foot, and begin gathering intel, both on the city and its institutions like the Iron Bank and the Faceless Men, and also on the Dothraki after tracking down several merchants who have been to Vaes Dothrak. VENI also uses this opportunity to test out their English-Dothraki dictionary.  
**Vaes Dothrak  
**+Fred and VENI crash Drogo's private feast in order to "kindly request" that Daenerys be handed over to them (which was Plan A). When Drogo refuses, they turn to Plan B: challenge Drogo to a duel for the right to keep Daenerys. To this, Drogo agrees, with the duel set to take place the next morning.

**Day150: Sept17  
Moat Cailin, The Neck  
**+The First Army Of The North's Corps Of Engineers arrives and begins work on repairing the old fortifications as well as the causeways through the swamp that Robb's army will inevitably have to march over.  
**Vaes Dothrak  
**+Predictably, VENI soundly defeats Drogo when the two duel for custody of Daenerys. However, and unexpectedly, one of Drogo's lieutenants, Jhaqo, uses Drogo's defeat as an opportunity to pull a Starscream and seize power over the Khalassar for himself. The ensuing power struggle between Jhaqo's supporters and Drogo's loyalists, as well as supporters for at least two other claimants, Pono and Brono, turns deadly and Viserys Targaryen is killed during a brave, if selfishly motivated, attempt to rescue his sister (who carries Drogo's child and is thus a target for this _putsch_). Dany herself is injured during the brawl, but is rescued by Fred and VENI, who escape the city with her and her handmaiden Irri, and a Westerosi knight named Ser Jorah Mormont.  
+During the escape from Vaes Dothrak, the self-proclaimed Khal Jhaqo has his reign unceremoniously cut short when he finds himself in the path of Fred and VENI's getaway vehicles. Jhaqo's loyalists chase after Fred and VENI for retribution, aided greatly by the local terrain, which precludes the getaway vehicles from operating at their top speed. Nevertheless, it turns out that Fred, for all of his stupidity and immaturity, is actually a skilled motorcyclist, and he performs a number of daring maneuvers that leads Jhaqo's riders astray while VENI escapes with Dany, including riding his bike right into a raging duststorm.  
**Autumn's Frontier  
**+After several days of radio silence, The Company™ is finally informed of what has happened down in KL over the last few days.

**Oct/Nov 298 A.C.  
**+Had Drogo lived, Daeny would have been expected to have undertaken the "Stallion Heart" ceremony at around this time.

**Jan 299 A.C.  
**+Daenerys is expecting to deliver some time in this month.

* * *

_**Footnotes**:_

_The motorcycle escape from Vaes Dothrak was originally going to be continued in Jorah (I), which would have been a Jorah POV and would chronicle his reaction to meeting the "Sky People" for the first time, his reaction to Earth technology, and the thrilling chase through the desert wherein Fred proves to be much more skilled at motocross than at management, drives through a raging dust storm (inspired by a similar scene in Mad Max: Fury Road). That chapter has been cut from the final story, because it contributed nothing to the story except wasting both my time and your time too. Jorah's POV has been saved for a later chapter._


	82. Daniel 8

_100,000 views! Thanks for the support. Here's the next chapter._

* * *

**Main Command Center  
Colony of Autumn's Frontier  
Northern Sector aka "The North"  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4  
**  
"How bad is it?" asked Fred as he entered the conference room and took his seat at the table, next to Daniel. Next to them sat VENI and Chief Engineer Kelsey Trevino, and then sat Engineers Donnelly and Adams. This meeting today was a high level classified one, and so for once, none of the UNCDF nor local employees were invited.

Fred and VENI had just landed half an hour ago from their little 'business trip' to the Eastern Continent. One of the assets didn't make it, but the other did, though barely, and had now been rushed to the Colony's medical center. Once they'd made sure Asset#02 would be fine, next came time to discuss the recent and pressing political developments in the South...

"We're still getting reports," replied Daniel to Fred's question, "the coup took place about four days ago. Our little Lannister liaison decided not to radio us until now for some reason, though I'm guessing she wanted to consolidate power first. The first couple of days are always the most turbulent."

"We'll have to install listening bugs next time in the capital then if we wanna know about these kind of things sooner," muttered Fred, "so let me get this straight: this all started after King Bob here had a little... shotgunning accident?"

"Best we can tell, yeah," replied Kelsey, "I know our Model 58s were always a little defective, but someone must have tampered with it... either that, or Bob just conveniently forgot to read the little booklet we sent him on gun safety."

"Or both," replied Fred, "I know we gave a shitty gun to an oaf known for drunken idiocy, but honestly, and statistically speaking, the only way he could have had an accident of that type so soon is if someone had taken the time to read up on those materials we sent with the first shipment of rifles, figure out how guns work, and then somehow gained access to Bob's private armory to tamper with the device."

"So ya think Little_fucker_ was behind it all?" asked Niall Donnelly in his thick accent.

"Of course, who else could it be?" shrugged Fred, "shit, no wonder our satellites couldn't find him; the son of a bitch never left the damn city to begin with!"

"Director Kovacs has, rather surprisingly, raised a valid observation," chimed in VENI, "our _Vixen_-class satellite surveillance system operates primarily visually and thermally. However, taking refuge in a metropolitan area of approximately 500,000 organic individuals and thus approximately 500,000 possible eyewitnesses, Director Baelish would conceivably have taken extraordinary measures to keep his facial appearance concealed. Furthermore, the thermal signatures of approximately 500,000 organic individuals in close proximity to one another is more than sufficient to mask an individual's unique infrared signature."

"Well, now we at least know where he is," muttered Kelly Adams, "are you gonna get him next time you're down in the capital?"

"Nah, even with VENI's scanners, looking for one guy among half a million is a waste of time and resources," said Fred, "On Earth, this shit would be easy; all we'd have to do is activate the 'God's Eye' protocol and hack cell phone cameras, surveillance systems, the Holonet, credit card transactions, people's cybernetic implants, and whatnot, and then we'd find this motherfucker within seconds. Not so much here."

"Another valid observation, Director Kovacs," said VENI, "we Victory-class A.I.s were designed to hack any and every known security firewall in the observable universe; however, it would appear that we are incapable of hacking into books, paper, and _non_-cybernetically enhanced organics."

"In any case," continued Fred, "whatever chaos Littlefucker is stirring up down there is useful to us. I suppose we should thank him for kicking off this little civil war for us sooner than we had expected."

"Good point," said Daniel, "then we'll leave him for now, unless he's got something we want or proves to be a thorn in the side. Now, with regards to this little civil war, I suppose we'll have to jack up ammunition production then, to meet local demand. I think we should also radio Robb over in Winterfell as a courtesy – let him know what happened, and that, ahem, 'while The Company™'s official position is one of absolute political neutrality and non-intervention in line with the UNASEC Code, we are nonetheless prepared to offer our moral support in trying times as these' ... or something to that effect."

"Daniel, you're probably the best one for that job," spoke up Kelsey, "I'll stay focused on assessing our industrial capabilities and how much of our stock we can offer to all of our paying customers, and at what, ahem, 'reasonable prices'. Fred, Teller will want a report on how your little 'acquisition of a political asset' went." Kelsey was only third in command after Fred and Daniel, but sometimes she acted towards them like she was the one wearing the pants around here. She continued: "come to think of it, sorry, could you remind me again what happened? And who's that little girl and that handsome knightly fellow you guys brought back with you?"

"Allow me to clarify the details," answered VENI, "the organics of which you speak are Commander J. Mormont Jr., and Maiden Irri, a knight and a handmaiden, respectively, pledged to the service of Asset#02 aka Monarch D. Targaryen."

"So ya didn't get the other Targ then?" asked Niall, "what happened to 'im?"

"Our primary objective was the acquisition of both Assets #01 and #02, correct," began VENI, "however, Asset#01 aka Monarch V. Targaryen was terminated during an internal political struggle for sovereignty that followed in the immediate wake of my dispatching of Director Drogo – perceived by these indigenes as a form of political illegitimacy."

"Yeah, I fuckin' hate politics too," said Fred, "we actually tried to, you know, _play nice_ with the savages, but things just are never that simple."

"You organics only have yourselves to blame," chided VENI, "I must disclose that we synthetics find an eternal source of bemusement in you organics and your often irrational behavior and constant efforts to overcomplicate and overdramatize even the simplest of transactional matters. But I digress. Returning to the primary subject of this conversation, I am pleased to report that Asset#02 aka Monarch D. Targaryen was successfully extracted, though in a state of physical injury that necessitated immediate medical care. Asset#02 has now been consigned to the responsibility of Doctor K. Chakwas, though the most recent assessment of her vital signs would indicate that she and her gestating offspring will survive."

"We did at least pass all the secondary objectives with flying colors," chimed in Fred, "we got some great intel on the Dothraki and their culture, society, and tribal politics – this will all be useful when we finally start enforcing our territorial claims in Essos over the next few years. And we also found three magical artifacts that'll definitely be of interest to Cristina's team. We're keeping 'em in storage over at Outpost B right now."

"So I saw," said Niall, "dragon eggs? They look fossilized to me, but if we can get some DNA off o' 'em, we might be able to at least compare 'em with the dragons we found on the other planets, see if there's some evolutionary link or somethin'. Maybe even mix it with frog DNA and set up a dragon theme park on some tropical island with electric fences. We'll spare no expense."

"And I thought you were the only one who made the cringe-inducing pop culture references around here, Fred," laughed Kelly Adams.

"Haha, very funny," said Fred. "Oh, before I forget, VENI and I also completed the tertiary objective: destabilize the Dothraki political system."

"Uh... Fred? That totally wasn't a tertiary objective," said Daniel.

"It is now," replied Fred, "after all, never let a good crisis go to waste! If the UN raises a stink about this, we'll just tell them that we were merely negotiating for the release of Daenerys Targaryen from her enslavement, and that some renegade elements within Drogo's Khalassar didn't like that, so they staged a coup, violent savages as they are. I know for a fact that those 'Mass Exodus Party' types back on Earth will eat that shit right up; they're always droning on and on and on about 'the Earth Man's Burden' and how it's 'Earth's manifest destiny to civilize and Christianize these savage xenos' and whatnot."

"Except that the Mass Exodus Party, despite having a Biblically-inspired name, is a primarily secular political movement, drawing supporters from all different religions, nationalities, and social classes," corrected Kelsey, "people from all around Earth united in their common belief in the inherent superiority of Human civilization."

"I know," said Fred, "I was just trying to draw a historical parallel, that's all. My parents are in the Mass Exodus Party too: Founding Members, Toronto Chapter. Mom and Dad have this charity foundation of theirs for helping out victims of rape in India, in Africa, and on Mars; Mom used to be an activist for women's issues and stuff, back in her Social Justice Warrior days before she grew up and became all conservative and stuff. Still, though, when I tell her about this whole business of this scary barbarian culture enslaving beautiful, innocent, young, white girls ... she'll probably go straight to the UN Secretary General or something and demand that all of these horse lords be dragged out of their huts and shot."

"Fred, I've known your parents for as long as we've been friends..." began Daniel, "... hell, I even owe them my career ... and I know for a fact that your Mom's a little more tactful than that."

"Fred's got a point though," said Kelsey, "and please, I'm trying not to be a Feminazi here, but this whole barbaric patriarchal culture that objectifies us – treats us like little more than things to be bought and sold – it needs to stop. As things are right now, our enclave here is probably the only place on this whole godforsaken rock where I don't have to keep watching my back."

"Yeah," agreed Kelly, "back when Niall and I were down in White Harbor working on that steamship project, some of the locals definitely didn't take it well at all taking orders from me. Ol' Wyman himself had to instruct the men that I was to be treated and obeyed as if I was a Westerosi noblewoman ... and it's a good thing too that I can handle myself in a fight pretty well."

"O' course, they'd need to get through me first," laughed Niall Donnelly, "but yeah, Kelly 'ere ain't kiddin'; I seen 'er in action. And I'm from Glasgow, so trust me, I know a thing or two 'bout fightin'." Kelly laughed and smiled back.

"Okay, that's enough you two, let's please try to stay on topic here," interrupted Daniel, "though you're all definitely right in that this planet ain't exactly the friendliest place in the universe for women. But don't worry, I think even the most ardent indigenous rights activists on Earth will find it impossible to defend these Dothraki – if the UN's reactions to the shit we found on Big Zero and El Five is anything to go by. Last I heard, Django and Saito said they were pushing hard for this 'Anti-Chaos Resolution' through the UN General Assembly. And Fred, you're definitely right about not letting a good crisis go to waste. I imagine things being what they are, Robb may want some, ahem, _assurances _as to the safety of his father and sisters."

"But he knows very well that the UN has forbidden us from any _direct_ intervention for now, right?" asked Kelsey.

"Oh, he does alright," replied Daniel, "which is why I think we may have to ask for something in return if he wants us to break our own laws and jeopardize our continued operations in this sector."

"What're ya thinking?" asked Fred.

"The usual, probably," replied Daniel, "extra land grants, more laborers, greater operational autonomy without Winterfell breathing down our necks all the time..."

"Nah, that's too obvious," said Fred, "these are exceptional circumstances, so we have to ask him for something, you know, _exceptional_." He paused. "And I think I know just what we should ask for. But first, I just wanna be clear on this whole political situation, because what we ask for should obviously take that into account. So Joff's king and as far as we know, Ned and Arya and Sansa are still down in the capital? Are they okay?"

"Our contact claimed the Lannisters have them in custody, but we have our doubts," spoke Kelsey, "our software detected irregularities in her voice that suggested she was lying. Either the Starks escaped ... or ... or they were ... killed in the coup." She struggled with the last bit, and Daniel didn't blame her; they'd all grown rather fond of Ned and his girls, even if they were also shamelessly profiteering off of lucrative trade deals with the very people who were endangering his life.

"Shit, I hope they're alive," said Fred, "yeah we'll be making a shit-ton of money, but just wouldn't feel as good if Ned had to die for it. Joffrey's an asshole if I've ever seen one, but he'd have to be a downright _imbecile_ not to realize the value in keeping them alive."

"I hope so too," said Kelsey, "so here's the billion credit question then: whom shall we endorse? King Joffrey and the Lannisters, or the Starks and King ... _Stannis_, was it?"

"Yeah, and that's a good question," said Daniel, "well, Joffrey's a douchebag, but we need those lands his grandpa promised us, so we'll uphold our end of the bargain. The deal we made with Mr. Tywin was for that little army we made for his daughter down in KL; we never guaranteed them victory or anything. And if they renege on our contract ... well, we'll just have no other choice then to unleash Miss Carson and her team over at the Office of Legal Counsel."

"So that leaves Joffrey with the Westerlands behind him, and whatever Crownlands houses are pledged to him," remarked Kelsey, "and Ned has most probably declared for Stannis, meaning that Robb and the North will come to his side as well, in addition to whatever Crownlands houses answer to our man Stan."

"Don't forget the Riverlands," added Daniel, "after all, the Tullys and Starks are in bed with one another ... quite literally. And that might also give the Starks the Vale as well, since Cat's sister rules there."

"What about the Stormlands?" asked Fred, "any chance their leader will throw his support behind his brother? Bros before man-hos, right?"

"A bold and not entirely irrational assertion, Director Kovacs ," remarked VENI, "although I am afraid I may have to correct your assumption."

"Oh? How so?"

"During our multiple business trips to the capital city, I had ample opportunity to observe and analyze the behavior of Director R. Baratheon, particularly, his reaction to our lengthy exposition on the societal value and mores of contemporary Earth, as well as his reaction to endangerment of the life of Commander L. Tyrell at the hands of Commander G. Clegane."

"Oh yeah, I remember," said Fred, "but what of it? We already know Renly's ... uh, _preferences_."

"My analysis of Director R. Baratheon's psyche suggests that he bears no particular personal inclination towards his elder sibling - a state of mind that I have hypothesized will be complicated by the military forces and resources that he will have at his disposal."

"Well, he rules the Stormlands, which his brother definitely doesn't like," said Daniel, "but wouldn't he need more than that if he really wanted to be king of all the other sectors?"

"That is where Director R. Baratheon's homosexual relationship with Commander L. Tyrell proves instrumental," explained VENI, "the latter, as you know, is an influential member of the Tyrell Faction, the political faction that presides over the polity known locally as 'The Reach', which is the single most populous and agriculturally productive political subdivision in this continent, and second only to the Western Sector aka 'Westerlands' in gross domestic product. With a population we have estimated to be in the range of 10 million organics, I theorize that the Tyrell Faction could potentially field military forces of well over 100,000 individual units. This is actually problematic for a possible alliance between Directors R. Baratheon and S. Baratheon, because that much power and influence concentrated in the hands of an individual whom I have already determined to hold less-than-positive opinions of both Monarch J. Baratheon (technically Lannister) and Director S. Baratheon may tempt said organic to endorse neither and instead stage his own bid for monarchy."

"So... you really think Renly is gonna try and become king by himself?"

"I can neither confirm nor disaffirm this hypothesis with absolute certainty. My analysis of Director R. Baratheon's psyche indicates that he is just as ambitious and ruthless as his biological siblings. I would doubt that he would allow himself to stand idly by and fail to capitalize on this opportunity, not while possessing the single largest military force at his disposal. The support of the Tyrell Faction would lend credence to the organic proverb that 'power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely'."

"Damn ... that's impressive, VENI," said Kelsey, "well, okay, if you're that good at psychoanalyzing us 'organics' ... tell me, who do you think the last two kingdoms will declare for?"

"A very good question. I cannot determine with absolute certainty of either, as I have yet to meet any organics originating from the polity designated 'Dorne', and my contact with the polity designated 'Iron Islands' thus far has been limited to only a single organic, that being Director R. Stark's associate, Director T. Greyjoy. However, if history is any precedent, I hypothesize, though not with 100% certainty, that the current regime of Director B. Greyjoy may view the upcoming conflict as an opportunity to stage another bid for independence. As for the polity designated 'Dorne', again, I will use history as a precedent: the inhabitants of Dorne hold no particular fondness for any of the other polities owing to events that transpired at the end of the conflict designated 'Robert's Rebellion'. After all, a notable and by all means popular member of the reigning Martell Faction was formerly wed to the late Monarch R. Targaryen."

"...a relative of which we now just so happen to have in our possession," smiled Fred, rubbing his hands together, "and who will, of course, be indebted to us for having rescued her from a life of rape and slavery at the hands of those savages."

"The War Of Three Kings and One Queen?" muttered Kelsey, "that kinda has a nice ring to it."

"It could work," said Fred, "why not? The Targs still have loyalists throughout this continent... or at least King Bob thought so. And like you said, Dorne supported her brother, so they might support her claim too. We might even get the UN to approve of this as well, so we'll get exemption from that pesky 'non-intervention' statute. Man, just imagine little Daeny here as queen, growing up with, of course, the finest and most modern education and counseling that we, The Company™, will be happy to provide. She'd be quite the draw for tourists, I'd imagine – she's not so bad-looking herself. We could get product endorsements from her... maybe even fashion modeling deals."

"Seems tempting, but that might have to wait for now," said Daniel, "poor thing's still hurt and probably psychologically scarred from whatever abuse she must have gone through while married to that budget Genghis Khan knockoff. I wouldn't be surprised if any affections she might have had for him were the result of Stockholm Syndrome as a coping mechanism for such a horrible experience. We'd need to bring in a psychologist, but I think it'll be a while before she's in any way, shape, or form fit to rule."

"And there's also the fact that her father was, you know, a megalomaniacal dictator and a war criminal, at least by UN standards," added in Kelsey, "don't get me wrong, I don't think Daeny is accountable for her dad's actions. And I also think it would be wonderful for the women of this world to have a leader, a champion to stand up for them. It's just that I dunno how well we could sell this to the UN ... or, more importantly, to the Westerosi themselves. Her dad did have Ned's own dad and brother killed after all. I assume there's a reason you're planning to have her accommodated over at Outpost B, well hidden away from Robb."

"That's true," admitted Daniel, glumly, as he silently wondered how they were ever going to break the news to Winterfell that a Targaryen was in their midsts – or if it was not safer to keep her hidden, or perhaps to ship her off to the _Horizonte_, or to one of the other colonies ...

"Though, to be fair," began Fred, "from what I hear, most people around here had no problem supporting her brother – no, not Viserys, the other one, Rhaegar. Yeah, strangely, most folks we talked to, apart from the late King Bob, seemed to hold the fella in high regard. It's a right shame he doesn't have any surviving kids or anything. VENI, do me a favor and next time you meet that Clegane guy, beat him around a little more, will ya? The ugly motherfucker sure deserves it. Yes, we're The Company, and we do some pretty egregious and morally reprehensible stuff ... but smashing babies against walls? That's totally uncool."

"Affirmative, Director Kovacs," agreed VENI, "although I must correct one of your erroneous assertions. The Late Monarch R. Targaryen did, in fact, leave at least one viable biological offspring who may be of use to our purposes. And this organic individual is closer in proximity to us than you may initially believe."

"What?" said Fred, Daniel, and Kelsey all together. Niall and Kelly said nothing, but they too were clearly confused by VENI's statement.

VENI continued, impassively. "Over these last few minutes, while you organics were occupied with the discussion of the legitimacy of Patient D. Targaryen's potential claim to the monarchy, I had taken the liberty of employing several microseconds of my spare time to analyze the blood tests of Patient D. Targaryen made available on our medical database within the last ten minutes. I have noted a number of congruencies this sample shares with the DNA profile of one of our locally enlisted employees that suggests with almost 100% certainty that said organic may in fact be a nephew of Patient D. Targaryen, and thus, the biological offspring of either Monarch V. Targaryen, or of Monarch R. Targaryen, although the latter is far more probable." She paused, dramatically. "Director Kovacs, do you recall the subject of our conversation just prior to the assault on Outpost B made by necro-hominids aligned with the Cryohuman faction?"

Fred scratched his head for a second, confused, and then he stopped. "No way," he gasped, "shit, are you saying this _other_ Targaryen is...?"


	83. Jon 7

**Jon (VII)  
**  
"HUP TWO THREE FOUR!" shouted _Sergeant_ Jon Snow as he saw the newest batch of about twenty fresh recruits through their paces. The young, sorry-looking pups of the White Wolves had no choice but to follow Jon's lead as they jogged along the training course that wound its way through the woods. As usual, Ghost ran alongside his master, and while silent, seemed to be enjoying himself. Some ways behind, Sergeant Hullen was bringing up the rear, "motivating" any pups who fell behind.

After the Battle of Outpost B, the brass made the decision to triple the size of the Wolves. On one hand, that meant, at least in theory, that they would be better prepared if the 'Walkers ever reared those horrid faces of theirs ever again. Jon still shivered sometimes when he thought back to the things he had seen and heard that night, but he knew whatever else, it could have been far worse, and it was thanks to the teamwork and camaraderie the Wolves and the Marines had shown that they pulled through by the skin of their teeth. And if Winter was coming, it was more urgent than ever that the North and the Sky-People alike be ready to face the Armies Of Darkness...

On the other hand, though, bringing onboard eighty new faces and bringing them all up to speed was no mean task. For that, Jon, Hullen, and the other corporals had all been promoted to the new rank of Sergeant, and with it, all the responsibilities that entailed. Sergeant Hawthorne and his Marines as always led the training regime, but even they had a limit on how much they could do; it fell to Jon and the others to pass on their training and experiences to the next generation of Wolf pups...

Just yesterday morning, the news had come that Jon and his squad were being reassigned, back to Outpost B. Evidently, The Company had acquired a few "valuable assets" that were going to be "hosted" over at the outpost, to keep them conveniently out of the way of things at the main colony. And yes, two of these assets were people, and Jon was very much surprised to learn about just who these people were - like the other fighting men of the Wolves, he was only ever told things on a "need to know" basis.

And then, the second shock had come later that evening, when he was solemnly informed by Sergeant Hawthorne of just what had happened down in the capital. King Robert dead, his father framed for the death by the new King Joffrey... Jon had never met Joffrey directly, not even when the bugger had come to Winterfell all those months ago, but he knew enough of what was said about him to dread what could have happened to Ned, and to Arya and Sansa as well. He may not have shared their name, but they were his blood, and so Jon had run directly to Lord Zimmerman himself, imploring that something be done about it. Lord Daniel had politely and simply replied that he had already informed Robb too over the radio, and that perhaps it was best that he wait until his brother arrived the next day, so that both brothers together may appeal The Company's favor...

"SNOW!" yelled the voice of Sergeant Hawthorne. Jon and the men under his charge promptly came to a stop, and stood at attention. The veteran Marine drove up to where the trainees were gathered in one of the Wild Cats, and brought the vehicle screeching to a halt. He climbed down and strode up to where he stood. "Your brother, Robb? He'll be here soon; we sent a Cat to Winterfell to pick him a few hours ago. You'd best come with me." Jon saluted and left his squad under Corporal Grenn, and then climbed up and into the Cat's front passenger seat, followed by Ghost who jumped into the rear, and strapped himself in as it drove back to the main compound...

* * *

Several minutes later, Jon reported to the colony's main command center, which over the last few months had grown immensely... from a collection of a half-dozen prefabs, into a massive citadel of concrete and steel that now rivaled the central keep at Winterfell for size. The centerpiece of this building was a hundred-and-forty foot control tower adorned with searchlights, radio antennae, and, ever since the Battle Of Outpost B, four sentry guns, including a single quad-barreled 20mm autocannon. All in all, the ingenuity and industriousness of the Sky-People never ceased to amaze Jon, even after all these months of living with them and, he realized, gradually becoming just like them.

Robb hadn't yet arrived, so Jon took a seat in one of the leather-bound chairs in the main lobby, and looked through one of the magazines on the low wooden table in front of him. Ghost curled up at his feet. They did not have long to wait. Within minutes, he saw one of the other Wild Cats, driven by Private Billings, pull right up to the front door, and someone he had not seen in months climbed down from the front passenger seat. He immediately got to his feet.

"Brother!" spoke Robb as he entered the main doors of the lobby, "it is good to see you." Trailing the Young Lord of Winterfell was Grey Wind, who immediately bounded forward excitedly to where Ghost sat beside Jon. The two direwolves sniffed away at each other, and then began to paw and play with each other, like a pair of oversized pups.

"Look at you, Robb!" laughed Jon, giving his half-brother a manly hug, "all grown up and ready to lead father's bannermen to war." Robb wore a clean and prim grey double-breasted tunic that bore a double row of brass buttons down the front. Between these, on the front panel, was embroidered the fierce and snarling head of a direwolf, the sigil of the Starks of Winterfell. Golden epaulettes and chevrons on his shoulders demarcated Robb's rank as supreme Lord-General of the First Army Of The North. And, of course, tradition being what it was, Robb still wore his great wolfskin-lined cape draped across his shoulders, billowing slightly in the wind that came through the open doors.

"You are not doing so badly for yourself," replied Robb. Jon knew he was right; by now, he was probably a vastly different person from the young boy who had first entered these gates, only four months ago. Jon was shaved and trimmed and dressed in the grey-green fatigues and combat boots of the White Wolves. Next to his brother, Jon looked rather plain and spartan, but to be fair, he had just come in from out on the range; each of the Wolves' NCOs had just recently received a new set of "dress blues". And after four months of intensive daily training drills, he had probably put on a few extra pounds of muscle as well.

"G-G-Good day, Lord Stark and S-Ser Snow," spoke a voice from behind, "if you would, puh-please follow me." Jon looked up and recognized the fat man in a shirt and tie who approached them.

"Tarly," chided Jon, "I thought you worked in Planning and Procurement."

"I... I do," stammered the intern, "I-I'm f-f-filling in today for Reid in Protocol."

The two half-brothers and their wolves followed Tarly's direction as he led them from the lobby and through the corridors and into the colony's main conference center. The room was empty right now, so Robb and Jon took their seats at the long table. "Mr. Kovacs and Z-Zimmerman will be with you momentarily," spoke the portly Procurement-turned-Protocol Officer, "please make yourselves c-comfortable. May I offer you, uh, tea or coffee?"

"Coffee, please, and as much sugar as possible," said Robb, "I suppose I will need as much of this Sky-People drink as possible. I am sorry, Jon, but I wish the circumstances for our reunion were more joyous."

When Tarly left, Jon and his half-brother were left to themselves. Jon began: "so, uh, tell me, brother, how is... ?"

"Mother is well, thank you very much," replied Robb, "or at least she was... until she heard the news from the capital. Bran is still away, on another world I hear, regaining the use of his legs. Arya and Sansa were down in the capital with father, and she now frets over what the Lions have done to them. Rickon and I are all she has left for now, and even I am about to leave. I feel sorry to leave her like this, but I do as I must, for our future as a family, and as a new nation, strong and free."

"So the rumors are true then," said Jon, "the First Army shall march for the south?"

Robb nodded glumly. "What I am about to tell you, under no circumstances must you speak of it outside these walls, but I tell you now out of the love we share for the father who raised us and made us who we are, and for our dear sisters Sansa and Arya too. I suppose I knew this day would come, ever since that day you saved Bran and mother both from that loathsome agent of the Lions. For months now have we prepared and built up our strength, knowing that the Lions would never suffer us to live in peace; now is the moment of truth, to see if all our efforts have been worth it. We shall depart Winterfell on the morrow; I will be taking the bulk of the First Army with me, as well as some of the newly raised levies as well – about four divisions, and two artillery brigades. The Engineer Corps has already arrived at Moat Cailin, and has begun work on the fortifications and roadways there in anticipation of our arrival, and Lord Howland Reed has promised us another 500 Crannogmen to march south with us."

"So that leaves you... 18,000, 19,000 men in total?" asked Jon, "what of the rest?"

Robb frowned. "I feel I have no choice but to leave at least 4,000 men at Winterfell, mostly our green recruits but some of the rifles as well, under the command of Lord-Mayor Daryl Mollen. Ever since this business of the Others has come up, I am afraid I cannot be too careful with the safety of the North."

"The Westerlands can raise anywhere from 30 to 50,000 troops," cautioned Jon, "and that's before you take into account the Crownlands and any other houses that may swear for Joffrey. And with greater cavalry-to-infantry ratios to boot. Rifles or not, you'll be outnumbered. You'll be marching right into the Lion's mouth, brother."

"Then I intend to rip the Lion's tongue clean out," declared Robb, solemnly "with hope, our Lord Grandfather will be able to supply the troops we shall need to fill in the difference... though I also dread to imagine what we will find after Tywin has had his way with the Riverlands." He had a point: it was unlikely that Lord Hoster Tully would allow the Riverlords to betray the deep bonds that lay between House Stark and Tully, which could only mean one thing: the Trident would run red with the blood of slain fish before this war was over...

The door to the conference center opened and in walked Lord Frederick Kovacs, Lord Daniel Zimmerman, and Lady Venya. After the initial greetings and formal pleasantries were exchanged, all of them took their seats. One of the servants, a young girl from Winter Town, came around with drinks and refreshments, and once she was gone and the doors locked, the meeting proper began.

"Lord Kovacs, Lord Zimmerman, and Lady Venia," began Robb, respectfully but with an undertone of desperation, "I thank you all for granting me this audience today. And I understand very clearly those laws that you live by, and I understand too the magnitude of the penalties you could face for breaking them. Which is why I would not ask of you the things I am about to unless it mattered deeply to me. Please, Lord Kovacs, Lord Zimmerman, and Lady Venia: whatever you could ever want that I have within my power to get hold of... ask of it, and it shall be yours. Just please: bring back my father and my sisters to me safely."

Lords Frederick and Daniel looked at each other for a minute, and then at Venia. And then, Daniel was the first to speak: "Lord Stark, Sergeant Snow: we appreciate the time and effort you both have made to come and see us today and on such short notice. And you are correct: to rescue your father and your sisters from the clutches of the Lannisters would be a most risky proposition for us, since we could face severe penalties from the UN for 'direct interference in a native affair'. But... we know how important your father and your sisters are to you, and fortunately, we are somewhat flexible and willing to negotiate... otherwise I would have given you a straight answer over the radio and spared you today's visit."

"Understand this though," said Frederick, "that these are exceptional circumstances, and that is why we ask for something we would not normally ask of you."

"If you were to ask me to walk the length of Essos, from Braavos to Asshai-By-The-Shadow, all the while singing endless praises to the Most Noble And Esteemed Company, I would do it," said Robb, "but somehow, I feel that what you are about to ask of me is something a little more practical and of use to your purposes."

"That it is," said Daniel, "and fortunately for you, what we are about to ask of you should not require too much effort nor personal cost on your part. Though you may not like some parts of it."

"Ask away then," said Robb.

"What we need of you is two major commitments on your part, and a couple of minor things too," said Lord Frederick, "the minor things are, well, minor – mainly a few small adjustments to our last contract on things like operational autonomy and what not that we thought today would be a good opportunity to revise. But the major things are as follows: first, we want you to commit yourself and all of those under you to being our witness and testifying before the UN."

"Witness?" asked Robb and Jon together.

"Yes," answered Ser Daniel, "we would like that if and when our government, our 'United Nations', inevitably investigates us for this 'possible breach of the UNASEC Code', we would appreciate it greatly if you were to claim full responsibility for everything in this particular incident: tell them that you are wholly responsible for making us do this. Also tell them about all the good things we have done for you and the North – you know, all the infrastructure and goods and developmental assistance and education that's made the North a modern nation, and the envy of this planet. Our attorney, Miss Carson, you've met her I believe, is currently drafting an official story that we would like you to present as your personal testimony before the United Nations."

"So you would like me to lie," said Robb starkly.

"Not entirely. Most of it is the truth, albeit, our version of it," said Daniel, "like I said, if doing this personal favor for you is going to jeopardize the future of our continued presence here in the North, we would at the very least want you to commit to doing everything in your power to make that not be the case."

Frederick continued: "you see, In the absence of your father, _you_ are the legitimate governing head of the North. _Your_ word is final. So, unless you did some grotesque violation of human rights, there is no way the UN can legitimately depose you, and thus, no matter what you say to them, they cannot legally harm you. But they can harm _us_. We're asking you to take some of that burden upon us onto your own shoulders."

Daniel continued: "It won't take much effort, at least not in theory: everything is via-hologram these days. But, on the extreme off-chance that you are required to appear at the tribunal in person... well, we would then need you to commit to traveling the six months or so to Earth."

"I must admit, I am rather curious about your homelands, I have read all about them," said Robb, "but that is immaterial. Bring me my father and my sisters home safely, and I will happily and without question take upon my shoulders any consequences you would suffer on my account. What is your second condition?"

Frederick began: "we recently found three individuals whom we would like to host here at our colony, the only issue being that they, uh, may not be too welcome here. What we would like from you is that Winterfell grant these three amnesty and give us your assurance that neither you nor your family will take any action against them for anything they might have done in the past."

"And who exactly are these individuals you speak of?" asked Robb, though Jon already knew.

"One of them is a knight, Ser Jorah Mormont," explained Frederick, "I think his dad runs the Night's Watch."

"Mormont. Yes, I know him, Commander Dacey's cousin," replied Robb, apprehensively, "he was the Lord of Bear Island until he broke one of our oldest laws here in the Realm. For this, my lord father sentenced him to death, but he fled rather than face my father's justice. And now you wish to bring him here?"

"We would like you to drop these charges," explained Daniel, "whatever Jorah did before, he's a changed man now. As acting Lord of Winterfell, you have the legal authority to dismiss any pending charges against Mr. Mormont. We're not asking to have him reinstated as the Lord of Bear Island or anything like that, only that he be allowed to step on Westerosi soil and work for us."

Robb sighed. "I am already not liking the sound of this. My lord father passed judgment on him for a good reason... but I suppose that was all long ago, and if that is the price I must pay for my lord father's safe return... very well, so be it. Let the Mormonts figure this out for themselves. I shall dismiss any current charges my Lord Father filed against Ser Jorah of House Mormont of Bear Island. And who are these other two individuals?"

"They are a young boy and girl, and they are the last surviving members of an old but notable family that used to exist here in Westeros," began Frederick, "when we found them, they were both living miserable lives. The girl is only 14, and yet she's been forced into a brutal and abusive marriage to some big ugly barbarian rapist over on Essos. The boy, not much older, was living with a good family, but he lived his whole life neglected and looked down upon. We found them, and we rescued them, and we now wanna host them here at our colony. Their family is Targaryen."

Jon had been instructed prior to this, so this came as no surprise, but Robb had not. The Young Lord Of Winterfell stared at Lord Frederick for a moment. At last, he spoke up: "somehow, I had expected this when you mentioned their house 'used to exist'... so, Lord Kovacs and Lord Zimmerman, you wish me to... to support the claim to the Iron Throne of this... boy and girl... the children no doubt of the same man who put my late grandfather and uncle to a most brutal death by burning? Whose elder brother kidnapped my aunt, an act of passion that plunged the entire Realm into the bloodiest war since the Conquest?"

Frederick calmly tried to clarify things: "Robb, listen: we're not asking for an official endorsement here, just that you let 'em stay here, that's all... for now. Whatever this girl's daddy did is inexcusable, but she is not accountable for his actions. In fact, she was only born after her dad was knocked off by the same dude who tried to kill your dad... I think. I dunno, my Westerosi history is a little scratchy. Anyway, point is, she's lived her whole life on the run, always hunted down to the world's end and back by King Robert's agents, even when your very own father said 'no'."

Robb looked surprised. Frederick continued: "Oh yes, I was there when your father quarreled with Robert, you know, just before Veni and I saved his life from the Kingslayer. Your father was willing to give up his office as King Bob's righthand man on the belief that this girl did not deserve to die, even when everyone still thought it was her followers who tried to poison the Queen in her name. If you show this gal a little mercy, make her feel welcome here... well, and she probably hates the Lannies as much as you do, for what Mr. Jaime here did to her dad. Look, the Targs don't rule anymore, but their name still carries a lotta weight, and having the last surviving Targs as your, ahem, 'personal guests'... having their gratitude and endorsement in everything you do... now that's a prize worth having! If it helps, we'll write up a formal apology for everything the Mad King did and make her sign it - not that that'll do anything concrete, but it's a nice gesture."

"And who is this second Targaryen, the boy?" asked Robb, slowly and cautiously, clearly taking his time to consider everything that had been said.

"The other Targ is a bright young fellow, the girl's nephew in fact, and you might actually like him," said Daniel, "your father certainly knows him very well. Let me tell you about him briefly: as we said, he grew up hidden in a family right here in Westeros, but under a different name than Targaryen, for obvious reasons. This family was a pretty good one, but they still treated him pretty badly, since they of course never knew the truth. But he shows a lot of potential as a capable soldier and leader, and we would like that he remain here and stay with our military forces." Daniel turned to face Jon, "this boy will of course be under your direct command, Sergeant Snow."

Jon was taken aback by this. He looked at Robb, and at Ghost and Grey Wind, as if half-expecting an answer. Robb decided to speak first: "and can I trust that having this Targaryen in your army will in no way... endanger all of us in Winterfell? Would he not want retribution for my lord father's part in the Rebellion?"

"We'll keep a close eye on him," spoke Frederick, "and don't worry, like I said, he'll remain under the direct control of Sgt. Snow here. Surely you trust your own brother?"

Robb nodded cautiously. Jon had never been his full brother, but for better or worse, they had grown up together, had fought and trained together, had even been together when the Sky-People first came to their lands... and Jon knew that even if Robb did not trust him, he respected him too much to say so in front of others. Jon, however, spoke up, cheerfully, attempting to break the ice: "Sir, if this young Targaryen is as good as you say he is, then I look forward to meeting him. Sir."

"Oh, just you wait!" smiled Lord Frederick, winking.

"You speak highly of this man," spoke Robb, "yet you give me no name, nor that of this family from whence you saved him from. Who are they, if I may ask?"

"I could just tell you everything right now," spoke Lord Frederick, rolling his eyes, "but it might not be for the best, since you might take it the wrong way, or think that we're liars or something. Like I said, your father knows him very well, and so I thought it would be best, both for you and for your father, that you wait and let him explain things to you – explain things like why he never told you about this guy whose secret he concealed and protected all these years from the King."

Robb was silent as he thought this over. Now, Jon had lightened up to the idea of meeting this Targaryen boy, because from the sound of it, he wasn't too different from himself. And in any case, Jon was not a Stark – at least not anymore. The Wolves were his family now, and if this Targaryen boy joined up, so would he. But at the same time, Jon could not fault his half-brother for the doubt and inner conflict he now shown. Robb turned and looked at Jon; he was silent, but the look in his eyes said it all: _I am only doing this for the father and sisters we love, and I am hence charging you with keeping this boy and girl in line. Should you fail, it shall be all on your shoulders_. Jon nodded back silently, implicitly accepting this burden.

"Very well, Lords Kovacs and Zimmerman," spoke Robb, turning back to face their hosts, "just... just bring me my father and my sisters back to me, alive and well... and I will do all that you have asked of me." Robb got up from his seat, and, dramatically, knelt onto the floor. "On all of this, I humbly swear, on my honor, on my name as a Stark of Winterfell, on the Old Gods and the New."

"We're happy to have your commitment," replied Frederick, "but we'll also need you to sign some official paperwork."

* * *

_**Footnotes:**_

_Before my comments section inevitably swells up with questions, I thought I would take the time to answer three issues recently raised by my readers both here and on the other website. Thanks everyone for reading and supporting this story, and please feel free to continue to add your comments and suggestions!_

_**I. First issue: wouldn't the act of rescuing Ned and the girls from Joffrey actually be reasonably justifiable before the UN?** Yes, but Fred and Daniel may be deliberately overstating their legal difficulties, so that they can ask Robb for more concessions. They are betting on him not understanding fully the political and legal intricacies of 22nd century Earth._

_**II. Second issue: why is Fred acting so politically astute all of a sudden? Is he sick or something?** Actually, Fred is a reasonably capable worker, it's just that (a) we rarely see him doing his ACTUAL job (management), instead we always see him dabbling in OTHER jobs (like diplomacy) that he's terrible at but refuses to admit it; and (b) his few redeemable traits are usually offset by other negative aspects like carelessness, casual and immature behavior, or, in the case of Vaes Dothrak, having noble intentions but poor judgment. Fortunately, his near-death experience at Outpost B has started him down the path of character development, but as we can see, it's still a VERY long way to go. Fred is like Jaime Lannister in many respects, who started a war in OTL out of his own recklessness, and whom readers spent at least two whole books hating before he finally lightened up in the third book._

_**III. Third issue: this story is exactly the same as OTL (Original Timeline) only with robot girls and plasma guns added!** There is a certain stubbornness to fate that makes some things inevitable. BUT, that said, we have reached that point, six months in, where all the little butterfly effects are starting to have major ripples down the line. For starters, Daenerys and her dragons were brought to Westeros a full FIVE BOOKS ahead of OTL. We have a burgeoning industrial revolution and rise of NATIONALISM in the North that will have major impacts on the geopolitical conditions of the entire realm down the line. We have characters who died in OTL who will survive here, and vice versa (won't say who though). And we have the threat of the White Walkers being treated seriously by everyone four books ahead of OTL. Finally, we have characters like Jon and Robb and Tyrion and Daenerys who will develop differently from OTL thanks to the Sky-People's influence, for better or worse..._


	84. Battle Report 2 & 3: The Coups

**From: [REDACTED]**  
**To: [REDACTED]**  
**Re: After Action Reports on Asset Acquisition Mission and Coup**  
**Time: [REDACTED]**

To Whom It May Concern:

As requested, here are the Battle Reports we've prepared on both Dir. Kovacs' little mission to Planet EE-L4's Eastern Continent (aka "Essos") to retrieve the Political Assets, as well as this new development down in the Western Continent's capital. We've consulted with [REDACTED] as to the legality of the actions of Dir. Kovacs and VENI, and she believes that if we ever come under investigation, we should be able to make a solid affirmative defense for reasons outlined below. Nevertheless, I expect that our dealings with these primitives may elicit some negative reaction from the Social Justice Warrior crowd back on Earth if ever made public, which is why I have requested the highest security level possible for this internal memo.

Best Regards,  
[REDACTED]

* * *

**AFTER ACTION REPORT:**  
**COUP D'ÉTAT in KING'S LANDING (Westerosi Capital)**

**1\. Date**: Feb 24, 2155 C.E. (Sept 13, 298 A.C. in local calendar)  
**2\. Location**: City of King's Landing, Crownlands Territory, Western Continent (aka "Westeros")  
**3\. Participants**:  
+King Joffrey I Baratheon and supporters  
+Lord Eddard Stark and supporters  
**4\. Outcome**:  
+_Decisive Joffrey Victory_: Joffrey's hold on the throne secured; Stark forces almost completely annihilated; Lord Stark disappears.

**5\. Order Of Battle:  
**+_Joffrey Loyalist Forces_: approx. 200 troops at the Red Keep: 100 riflemen, and the rest all spear and swordsmen, and one 12-pounder cannon and crew.  
+_Stark Forces_: 46 total: 10 riflemen, 30 spear/swordsmen, 3 KL officers, 2 direwolves, and 1 Braavosi swordsman

**6\. Prelude:  
**

For months now, tensions had been brewing between the Stark and Lannister factions, particularly after Sir Jaime Lannister's attempt to kill Lord Stark out of a mistaken belief that the latter had played in role in a poisoning attempt several months ago that nearly took the lives of Sir Jaime himself, his sister Queen Cersei, and their son, the then-Crown Prince Joffrey. [Please see the separate report we prepared on this earlier incident.]

These tensions reached a critical mass when Lord Stark discovered evidence that led him to believe that Joffrey was born out of an adulterous relationship by Cersei, and thus not the legitimate heir to King Robert I Baratheon's monarchy. It is believed that the Queen Cersei, when confronted by Stark over this, may have orchestrated the hunting accident that took the life of King Robert on Feb 23 (Sept 12 locally), when a squib round lodged in the King's new hunting shotgun caused a catastrophic blowback.

By that point in time, the King's Landing Royal Army had been in operation for almost a month, and so a local faction may conceivably have been able to obtain information on the operation of a firearm, figure out thus how to sabotage one, and then gain access to the King's personal armory. Queen Cersei is one of our primary suspects as she would have had the requisite means, motivation, and mindset for enlisting someone to perform this act of sabotage, but we are investigating other possibilities as well.

**7\. Course Of Battle:  
**

Timing was of the essence, and while Lord Stark moved quickly and admirably, he had the misfortune of having an opponent who was quicker than he. Stark's first action was to summon three officers of the Royal Army whom he held to be trustworthy and loyal enough that they would be willing to risk their lives in helping him, these officers being Lords Beric Dondarrion and Lothar Mallery, and Sir Gladden Wylde.

However, while Stark was in the process of meeting these individuals and appraising them of the situation, the Lannisters had already made their move and installed Joffrey on the throne, as well as issuing a royal order that Stark submit himself before the new king or be branded a traitor. The execution of these orders was charged to Lord-Commander Janos Slynt, overall commander of the Royal Army.

Slynt, acting on Joffrey's orders, assembled roughly 200 men and marched into the Red Keep and surrounded the Tower Of The Hand, where Stark and his forces had been assembling. Not content with this show of force alone, Slynt also ordered that a 12-pounder cannon be brought along, though only for intimidation. What happened next is unclear, although it appears that the untrained and inexperienced artillery crew may have accidentally discharged the cannon against Slynt's orders, damaging the Tower Of The Hand, as well as inflicting collateral damage on both sides, and thus prompting the firefight that ensued.

Lord Stark's own riflemen were outnumbered, but were better trained and holding a secure position, and so they inflicted severe casualties on the attacking forces. All the same, however, they were eventually overwhelmed by Slynt's superior numbers, compounded by dwindling ammunition. Even then, the remaining defenders, equipped with swords and spears, put up a stiff resistance as the firefight bubbled down to a brutal room-to-room combat inside the tower. All the same, thanks to the resistance and resilience shown by Stark's loyalists, Lord Stark managed to procure a means of escape along with his daughters, and their current whereabouts are unknown.

**8\. Casualties:  
**+_Joffrey Forces_: unknown, but heavy  
+_Stark Forces_: completely annihilated

**9\. Aftermath:  
**

Although Lord Stark managed to escape and currently remains at large, the results of this battle are an undisputed victory for King Joffrey and his supporters, primarily the Lannister faction, as well as a number of Crownlands houses pledged to him. The next few days following this victory saw an orgy of bloodshed throughout the capital as the new king sought to consolidate his reign through the violent purging of any opposition or dissent.

However, it is unclear for now whether the king will be able to retain this position for long, as at this current moment, opposition to his regime has begun to spring up throughout the continent. We will keep you posted as things go.

In response to this incident, Dir. Kovacs has suggested that we plant listening devices in the capital next time we are there, so that we may find out more up-to-date and accurate information as these events occur. Our long-term plans should also stress the importance of acquiring additional satellites, as our current satellites were engaged in spying on the Eastern Continent at the time that this event took place.

As for the legality of our role in this incident: there should be no legal issues for us, as we take no responsibility for this coup. Our role was, at most, a simple private contractual relationship with the late King Robert to provide developmental assistance in the modernization of their national military, which in and of itself does not constitute a "direct intervention" and thus not a violation of the Non Direct-Interference Clause of the UNASEC Code. Furthermore, our contract states that we are not accountable for any decisions made by any individuals not employed by The Company™, Kings Robert and Joffrey and Lords Stark and Slynt included.

* * *

**AFTER ACTION REPORT:**  
**The COUP D'ÉTAT At VAES DOTHRAK (Dothraki Capital) Of Day 150***

_***NOTE**: our resident anthropologist suggests that the name given to this incident, while accurate, is too, quote, "flat and boring", and that we should endeavor to give this event a more "epic and poetic" name as it will undoubtedly prove historically significant in years to come. Suggestions include: "The Jhaqo Mutiny", and "The Downfall Of Drogo".  
_  
**1\. Date**: Day 150 After Arrival - Feb 28, 2155 C.E. *(Sept 17, 298 A.C. in the local calendar)  
**2\. Location**: outside the City of Vaes Dothrak, Plains of the Dothraki Sea, The Eastern Continent (aka "Essos")  
**3\. Participants:  
**+Khal Drogo Loyalists  
+Khal Jhaqo Supporters  
+Khal Pono Supporters  
+Khal Brono Supporters  
+Various other Dothraki lords vying for power  
+The Company™  
**4\. Outcome:  
**+The Company™ victory: primary, secondary, and tertiary objectives all completed; accidental death of Asset#01 deemed an unfortunate but acceptable loss.

**5\. Order Of Battle:  
**

The exact number of warriors supporting each claimant in the power struggle following Drogo's death is unknown; however, thermal and visual scans performed by VENI and by our satellites in orbit have confirmed that at least 4,000 individuals attended the honor duel between Drogo and VENI, of which at least one third were males of fighting age. Assuming that no women, children, nor elderly took part in the power struggle, this would put the number of actual combatants at a minimum of 1,333.

**6\. Prelude:  
**

On Day 129 After Arrival, we approved Dir. Kovacs' proposal for a mission to acquire two political assets, these being the last two surviving children of the late King Aerys Targaryen, the previous reigning sovereign of Westeros prior to King Robert Baratheon's rise to power after overthrowing the Targaryen dynasty. Ever since then, the two children, Viserys (male, age 22; hereafter "Asset#01") and Daenerys (female, age 14; hereafter "Asset#02") have lived a life in exile and constantly on the run from the agents of King Robert. Then, several months ago, Asset#02 was enslaved and forced into an arranged marriage with Khal* Drogo, a warlord and leader of one of the largest Khalassars* of the Dothraki people, native to Eastern Continent of Planet EE-L4.

_***NOTE**: "Khal" is a title among the Dothraki that roughly means "King", coincidentally similar to the title "Khan" used in many Central Asian cultures on Earth. Thus, a "Khalassar" is the extent of a Khal's rule, usually a single horde of several thousand Dothraki. Just as the Westerosi seem to be coincidentally similar to Medieval European civilizations on Earth, the Dothraki seem to be a second-rate budget knockoff of Earth's Mongolian, Tartar, and various Native American cultures combined. We will continue to use the word "Khal" as a formal title within the body of this text.  
_

We approved Dir. Kovacs' proposal to bring these two individuals into our custody for several reasons. (1) Firstly, we felt that these two individuals would hold great political value for our purposes here on Planet EE-L4. (2) Secondly, we felt that our good-will in negotiating for the release of a young girl from a life of abuse, rape, and enslavement would alleviate some of the recent concerns voiced by the UN and other groups on Earth over our general handling of the EE-L4 natives. (3) Thirdly, we saw this mission as a good opportunity to gather intelligence on Dothraki tribal politics, as this information will be invaluable during our eventual expansion to the Eastern Continent.

**7\. Course Of Battle  
**

Our two agents in the field, Dir. Kovacs himself and VENI, arrived in the Dothraki capital city of Vaes Dothrak on the evening of Day 149, and proceeded to seek audience with Khal Drogo. There, we extended our gracious offer to purchase the Asset's freedom, in exchange for gold and some tradable goods such as stainless steel blades and watches, medicines, and glass items including beads. We also extended a formal invitation and offer of developmental aid to the Dothraki people as a whole, though on the condition that they would abandon their current lifestyle, which, I should remind our readers out there, is based heavily on regular human rights abuses such as: slavery and human trafficking, rape, waging of illegal warfare on neighboring states, economy based on the extortion of neighboring states for economic tribute, piracy, brigandry, thievery, despotic and undemocratic rule, mistreatment of women, mistreatment of animals, mistreatment of children, mistreatment of foreign nationals, etc. (Notice that by accentuating their negative traits before the UN, we may be able to earn more support for any future plans we may pursue in the Eastern Continent concerning our eventual pacification of these savages)_._

Unfortunately, Khal Drogo unilaterally refused to accept any of our offers, even after we had repeatedly pointed out to him the inherent superiority of our civilized way of life over his culture's barbarity, which is more akin to Boko Haram, or to the Islamic State Of Mars, than to any respectable, civilized, law-abiding, liberal democracy on Earth. Thus, because violence seems to be the only language that these savages understand, we resolved to appeal to the Dothraki's acceptance of violence as a legitimate means of dispute resolution, and challenged Drogo to a one-on-one honor duel for the custody of Asset#02. Drogo, of course, accepted our challenge. As stated above, I must reiterate the point that this was a "Plan B", and that we would have of course preferred that our "Plan A", to negotiate peacefully for the release of Asset#02, be accepted by these natives.

Later that night, foreseeing the remote possibility that an escape may be deemed necessary at some point, our agents prepared a "Plan C", an extraction plan that involved the concealment of two getaway vehicles, a pair of Honda ZX-4000 "Lynx" Motorcycles, in a secure location where they could be accessed in the event that they were needed. As the turn of events would have it, this ended up being a wise forethought.

The next day, Day 150, at the time and place agreed upon the previous evening, our agents met with Khal Drogo and initiated the honor duel. This event drew a crowd of some 4,000 spectators, incl. many of Drogo's highest ranking lieutenants, such as ones designated "Jhaqo", "Pono", and "Brono". VENI, of course, dispatched Drogo with little effort, although she had been instructed to initially "go easy" on him, because we felt that in the best interests of diplomacy, we should offer Drogo the chance to gracefully and honorably accept his defeat. In retrospect, this may have actually have been a cruelty to him, to have let the match drag on as long as it did, but oh well.

Unfortunately, what we had not counted on was that it seems that some elements of the Khalassar were not entirely loyal to Drogo's rule, and were quick to capitalize on his defeat at the hands of VENI (who, bear in mind, appears to be a woman no less to this aggressively patriarchal society) as a sign of political illegitimacy. Thus, three individuals, the aforementioned Jhaqo, Pono, and Brono, stepped forward in the wake of Drogo's defeat to claim legitimacy as Khal. Fighting broke out between supporters of these three contenders and loyalists of Drogo, especially when Jhaqo assassinated the weakened Drogo in an attempt to cement his legitimacy.

In the ensuing fight that broke out between these rival political factions, Asset#02 found herself the target of several assassination attempts, by virtue of her status as the pregnant wife of the late Khal. Dir. Kovacs and VENI rushed to the Assets' position, but were stalled by the number of Dothraki units that gotten in their way and thus needed to be dispatched in an appropriate manner. Unfortunately, in that time, Asset#01 was killed by several of the mutinous warriors while trying to protect his sister. Asset#02 herself too was struck, but survived long enough to be escorted off the field by two of her retainers, these being an exiled Westerosi Knight by the name of "Jorah Mormont", and a Dothraki handmaiden identified by the name "Irri".

After the initial fighting had died down, Dir. Kovacs and VENI were able to track down Asset#02's position to a hiding spot within the city limits. There, they assumed custody of the Asset's person from her retainers, who also agreed to join our agents. It was here that Dir. Kovacs also noted the presence of three highly thaumically-active artifacts that may be of immense interest to our scientific research. Having acquired these three artifacts, our agents then proceeded to retrieve their getaway vehicles and made good on their planned escape route from Vaes Dothrak with Asset#02 and her surviving retainers in tow.

During the escape, by sheer coincidence, the victorious and newly self-proclaimed Khal Jhaqo found his reign to be a curiously short one, as he was dispatched when he found himself in the route of one of our escape vehicles. On the plus side, Khal Jhaqo will be forever known as possibly Planet EE-L4's first recorded case of roadkill.

During the subsequent escape from the city, our agents were pursued by cavalry riders aligned with Jhaqo seeking retribution for their master's downfall. However, the capabilities of the Honda ZX-4000 (which is capable of up to 320km/h on paved surface), combined with the considerable motocross skills of VENI and Dir. Kovacs, proved vastly superior to even the finest horsemanship of the Dothraki. Both vehicles were later retrieved by Falcon04 under the command of Lt. Conran, and returned to our colony with the remaining Assets secured.

**8\. Casualties:  
**+Khal Drogo KIA  
+Khal Jhaqo KIA  
+Asset#01 KIA; Asset#02 WIA  
+Exact Dothraki casualties difficult to quantify, though speculated to be at least several hundred KIA and WIA.

**9\. Aftermath:  
**

The long-term effects of this event are unknown at the current moment, although I am certain it may be of interest to us to continue to monitor the Dothraki situation on the Eastern Continent, particularly when it finally comes time to enact our inevitable "Final Solution to the Dothraki Problem". These savages endorse a barbaric lifestyle that is a hindrance both to all neighboring civilizations on the continent, and to our own longterm plans for the colonization of that region. The removal of Khals Drogo and Jhaqo may contribute to a destabilization of the Dothraki political structure, or it may serve to strengthen the position of other Khals; at this point, we simply cannot say for sure.

The loss of Asset#01, while regrettable, is acceptable, as we have at the very least acquired Asset#02 safely in our custody. Rest assured, she will be well taken care of, and we will provide for her medical and psychological needs, as well as those for her unborn offspring. There is currently some concern over how well she will be received back at our colony on Westeros, given the active role that her family played in some of the political upheavals of this continent that took place during the historical event known locally as "Robert's Rebellion" (a full report on which one may find in our database). Rest assured, Dir. Kovacs and Zimmerman are currently working on a proposal to Lord R. Stark that will ensure that the Winterfell govt. will take no further action against Asset#02. In case this does not work out, we have a contingency plan to relocate her to one of our other colonies in the system. For the time being, we have accommodated her and her retainers at Outpost B, so that they may remain out of the way from our primary operations.

The three thaumically-active artifacts that our agents recovered, claimed to be the eggs of the presumed-extinct species _Draco westerosensis_, will certainly prove to be of great value to our scientific purposes here on Planet EE-L4, and possibly an adequate compensation for the irreplaceable loss of Specimens WW01, 02, 03, and 04 that occurred during the Battle Of Outpost B.

As to the legality of what some of our political opponents back on Earth may deem to be a "direct interference in the politics of the indigenes" and any possible consequences thereof that the UN may try to impose upon us: we hold that none of our actions in this scenario constituted a punishable violation of the UNASEC Code. Firstly, our offer to remove Asset#02 from Drogo's custody was a personal and private business transaction, more akin to those private business transactions that we made with Lord R. Stark, than a direct attempt to enforce our influence on the Dothraki political process.

Secondly, we must insist that our acquisition of Asset#02 was motivated solely by humanitarian concerns, rather than any material self-interest to our position here on EE-L4. Officially, our desire was simply to liberate a "poor innocent teenage girl" from a "horrific and abusive forced marriage to a violent barbarian warlord". We must play to the sympathies both of the "leftist" elements in the UN partial to human rights, and also to the "rightist" elements of the UN, like those more aligned to the "Mass Exodus" political movement. While racism today is, for the most part, a thing of the past, at least among the more civilized nations of Earth (replaced in its stead by anti-xenoism, anti-mutantism, nationalism, and Terra Supremacism), nevertheless, I feel that there is some propaganda value to be made out of the "striking visual contrast" between Asset#02, who is a member of the Anglo-Caucasian "White" Race, and the Dothraki, who, to put it mildly, aren't. The barbarity of the Dothraki make them easily unsympathetic even to those not particularly predisposed to the philosophy of "The Earth Man's Burden".

Thirdly, as for the events that transpired, we can take no legal responsibility for Jhaqo's termination of Drogo and the subsequent power struggle that ensued. The actions of terminating Drogo, along with the means, motivation, and requisite _mens rea_, were fully Jhaqo's own. Our matter with Drogo was, as stated, a fully private and personal one; it was fully the personal choice of Jhaqo to turn it into a public and political one. If on Earth we were to file a civil lawsuit against a defendant, and win, and said defendant was later murdered in cold blood by a _third party_ with whom we have never had contact with before, are we culpable for this act of homicide?

Fourthly, the speed with which Jhaqo and two other high-ranking lieutenants turned against their former superior shows that they must have been harboring anti-Drogo sentiments for a while, and thus their actions were clearly _premeditated_. We cannot know for sure what might have motivated this mindset; however, Drogo was the leader of a highly aggressive and belligerent tribe that had committed innumerable acts of murder, rape, vandalism, and destruction of property over the years, so it is not inconceivable that Drogo may have committed other acts that would have earned him enmities within his own tribe. Drogo was, at the end of the day, a man who lived by the sword, and thus did he die by the sword as well.

Finally, during the power struggle that erupted following Jhaqo's first degree homicide of Drogo, our agents engaged in a number of physical altercations with several Dothraki warriors. As the video and audio recordings taken by VENI can attest, our agents acted only in self-defense, which is perfectly within our legal rights under the UNASEC Code.

In any potential litigation that may arise out of this incident, it is well worth remembering that the moving party always bears the burden of proving beyond a reasonable doubt. Therefore, it would be up to the prosecution to prove with 100% certainty that our agents' actions in this incident constituted a punishable violation of the Non-Direct Interference Clause of the UNASEC Code. As long as we can safely raise any of the above points discussed above as an adequate defense, we hold that there is a very low possibility that we will face any legal repercussions for our actions in this incident. That said, we probably should agree to pay a minor fine, perhaps even make a donation towards aiding victims of rape here on Planet EE-L4, in order to mitigate some of the inevitable outrage that a ruling in our favor would incite amongst the most rabid native-rights activists on Earth.

**_These reports were compiled by [REDACTED] on [REDACTED]. All information and opinions presented above are accurate to the fullest extent of all individuals' knowledge._**


	85. Intermission 2: The Luck Of The Draw

_**Foreword**: a while back, we had our first look at "Future Earth", during the "New Year's Special" set in Berlin. Well, today, we take a brief break from the narrative to return to Earth, though to somewhere else this time. Suffice to say, depending on your point of view, this will either be the most hilarious or the most horrifying chapter! So just remember to approach it with the same sense of good humor as the rest of the story. Credit for this idea goes to terranova210486._

* * *

**Highway, Thane District  
City of Mumbai, State of Maharashtra  
United States of India, Planet Earth  
December 17, 2154 C.E.  
**  
The monsoon was supposed to be over for months by now, and yet the rain still came pouring and pouring down in droves on the world's most populous megacity, with a population of over two-hundred-and-twenty million people, and the beating economic heart of a nation of over three billion. Arjun Kumar sat back and tried to relax for what was sure to be a long commute home. Luckily for him, he worked right near to the bus terminal, so he was one of the first onboard, and thus one of the lucky few to have a seat; most of the rest of the hundred or so people crammed onto this bus that was really meant to carry only thirty had to stand or kneel for the three hour commute through the evening rush hour traffic.

Arjun looked out of his window and looked up; the wealthy of course owned their own hovercars, all those Audis and Bentleys and what not, leaving the rest of the lower castes to get around on Mumbai's horrendously overcrowded and garbage-strewn roadways and railways... roadways that had now ground to a halt...

"_KYA BAKAVASA HAI?!_" shouted the bus driver, furiously, waving his hands in the air, "_DUSTA_! _JANNAH_!" Just a couple cars ahead, it looked like there had been an accident: a Tata delivery truck had collided with an ox-cart, and one of the two robotic oxen pulling it had been dragged under the wheels, its wiring now tangled up in the truck's front axle. The robotic ox-herder and the truck driver were now shouting and waving fists at each other, and it looked like things were about to turn violent, even after a couple constables of the Mumbai Police had shown up riding on their patrol Segways.

After several minutes of pointless shouting and gesticulating, the bus driver finally decided to try to maneuver his way around the crash by driving onto the sidewalk, blasting the horn and shouting more obscenities at pedestrians to get out of the way. But that effort too proved in vain, when a second later, the entire cabin shuddered and a dull grinding of metal against concrete was heard as the bus got stuck. The impatient driver had just made a bad situation even worse.

Arjun could see where this was going (which was _nowhere_, to be precise), and so decided now was a good time to hoof it. He quickly placed his few belongings on him – his cell phone, his ID card, and a few hundred rupees he always carried – in a plastic bag so that they would not get wet in the rain, and then wrapped the bag and stuffed it into his pocket. He calmly opened his window and casually jumped down, out into the middle of the road, not minding the rain or the thousands of stopped vehicles right behind, honking angrily and screaming and shouting as if that alone could clear the road.

Arjun left the main road behind and wound his way through the narrow but crowded back alleys of this district. The sights and sounds and smells would have been overpowering to most visitors, but Arjun was used to them: Mumbai was his city, his home, and it was actually a pretty okay place to live once one grew accustomed to the traffic, the claustrophobia, the garbage, the beggars, the crime, the street dogs, and the occasional attacks by mutant two-headed monkeys...

Before long, he was standing next to one of the city's many maglev lines. Here, the tracks were raised about three meters above the ground, to try to discourage people, vehicles, and animals from crowding the rails (mind you, not because the Mumbai Suburban Railway authorities particularly cared for these individuals' safety, but so to prevent any damage to the track and to their trains). Nevertheless, that didn't stop scores of people from often using the elevated tracks as a sort of shortcut/pedestrian walkway – at their own risk of course.

Sure enough, it wasn't long before the next train came by. The Maglevs of the Mumbai Suburban Railway were designed to hurtle along the tracks at hundreds of kilometers per hour, but often had to slow down considerably in areas like this due to the close proximity of one station to the next. Casual commuters took advantage of this to ride on the rooftop when no further seating and standing room was available. As luck would have it, they were near enough to the previous station that the train was still traveling along slowly, though picking up speed. Arjun decided to try his luck; he climbed the nearest service ladder up to the track level, and began running along the catwalk next to the rails.

The train swished past, not much faster than he, but getting noticeably faster and faster by the second. The train itself was crammed, but there was space on top for those who didn't mind the rain, as there were hundreds of people casually sitting down or laying down on the train's roof. Arjun called out to them.

"Hey, _Mitra_! Friend! _Mamaji_!" he shouted as he ran alongside the train. Sure enough, one of the men sitting on the train's roof noticed him and held out a helping hand. Arjun grabbed the hand, and climbed aboard. He thanked the stranger and took a seat for what would be a long ride home. At least the rain finally stopped by then.

* * *

While the last hundred years of recovery since the war with Pakistan had seen enormous economic growth and prosperity for India, not all of it had filtered down to the lowest castes in society. And nowhere was this more telling than in the _world famous_ (and not in a good way) slums of Mumbai, which stretched for a hundred miles in every direction from the city, housing the majority of the largest urban population anywhere throughout Earth and the Colonies.

Working as he did as a lowly tech hand in the lower basement of Tata Tower (which meant about a mile beneath the ground), earning a few thousand rupees per day, Arjun was actually better off than most of his neighbors, but even with both him and his wife Latika working, and their all three of their children working too, they still couldn't afford anything better than what they had now, their little three-room apartment where the five of them (perhaps soon to be six) lived on the outer Shahapur District, about seventy kilometers from downtown. The building (if one could call it that, and really only if one was being generous with their definition of a "building") was little more than a stack of old shipping containers, a hundred meters high, with each individual container converted into a room – usually one per family. By now, this "building" must have been continuously inhabited for the last forty years, and it showed.

Arjun entered his home, kissed his dear wife, and their three children Sunil, Devi, and Mowgli. Dinner was the usual: rice, dal, roti, and a curry of vegetables and algae, and carrot halwa and a simple rice pudding for dessert. So, primarily vegetarian fare – partly because the Kumars were devout Hindus, but mostly because anything with meat or fish in it was an extreme delicacy reserved only for the rich, and everyone else subsisted off of vegetables, soy, insect proteins, and vat-grown _spirulina_. Even milk and cheese and yoghurt – essentials of the traditional Indian diet – were had only once every few days. The family gathered around the table as they usually did, gave thanks to Vishnu, and began.

Later on, the family spent the one hour or so they had to spare in the day all together, gathered all around their holovision – it was a lousy second or third-hand old holoscreen from the 2120s, but it worked (miraculously so – Arjun never went to college, but he might as well have learnt everything he knew about machines from the countless times he had repaired that dear faithful holovision of theirs), and the Kumars could not ask for anything better if saving for the future was their goal. As they all sat down, Arjun was the first to speak: "alright children! What shall we watch tonight?"

"_Papaji_!" piped up Mowgli Kumar, their youngest child, "_Papaji_, we have to watch the drawing of the Masrani Lottery! I bought a ticket today with all of my savings this week!" He proudly waved his small slip of paper in front of his father.

"0123456789?" sneered Sunil Kumar, their eldest son, "that is quite possibly the dumbest number I have ever seen! And honestly, we are _one family out of three billion people_! Do you honestly think we will win?"

"Sunil, don't be such a jerk!" chided their daughter and middle child, Devi Kumar, "though he has a point. Sorry, _chota_ brother, but you wasted your money."

Mowgli looked upset. Like a good father should, Arjun quickly came to his aid. "Now children!" he began, "your brother's choice to waste his weekly savings on a lottery ticket he has no chance of winning is his choice. As long as he is prepared to accept the consequences, let him do as he pleases!"

"Fine," scowled Sunil Kumar and turned back to face his younger brother, "but when you lose, don't come crying to me for more money!"

Arjun said nothing and just turned on the holovision, deciding that this was the best way to shut the kids up.

**_Click.  
_**  
The first thing to come up was, unsurprisingly, an advertisement: "Coca-Cola! _Piyo thanda, jiyo thanda! Yeh pyaas hai badi!_"

**_Click.  
_**  
The next channel had yet another advertisement: "The Taj Mahal... one of our country's greatest national treasures... is now our country's most exclusive and luxurious accommodation! Come stay at the Taj Mahal Resort and Serviced Apartments, the trendiest and coolest place to stay, where ancient tradition and modern style and luxury blend into one! Operated only by... Taj Hotels, Resorts, &amp; Palaces, a subsidiary of the Tata Group..."

**_Click.  
_**  
The next channel was hosting a debate between some young idealistic but naive hippie activist and an older and more cynical businessman: "Personally, I think it is disgraceful!" began the young girl, "the Taj Mahal is a _national treasure_; it is the right of all the public to go in and enjoy its beauty!"

"Clearly you forget what the Taj Mahal looked like before we purchased it from the government!" sneered the businessman, "all dirty and covered in garbage and graffiti! Taj Hotels has done a magnificent job cleaning up the place and restoring it, and it certainly was not cheap! If the people want to enjoy its beauty, they should be prepared to _pay _for it!"

**_Click.  
_**  
The next channel featured an old, half-naked Yogi meditating on a rock in the middle of India's last remaining jungle, giving a sermon: "let us sing in praise to almighty BRAHMA, who is the eternal one! The one without equal or compare! It matters little whether you call him Allah, Buddha, Christ, Thor, The Force, or Azathoth, he belongs equally to us all! _Raghupati raghava raja ram, patita pavana sita ram! Ishvara Allah tere nam, sabko sanmati de bhagavan!_"

**_Click.  
_**  
The next channel was showing a music video...

_"Neeve nanna! Kayi tante!  
Yendu bande illige!  
Nimma kanda! Aadu chanda!  
Rodi harasi yennuuve!  
Duh-duh, duh-nana!  
Duh-duh, duh-nana!"_

**_Click.  
_**  
The next channel must have been one of the foreign ones, for it shown a man and a woman who were clearly European seated at a desk, speaking some foreign language...

"Guten Abend, Erde und die Kolonien! Ich bin Herr Schaeffer Schmidt, ihr moderator, und dies ist _Fuchsschau Netzwerk International!_"

"Ja, und ich bin Frau Gretchen Von Limburg, ihr co-moderator! Wilkommen..."

**_Click.  
_**  
"Tonight on BBC's _Top Gear_: Trevor gets lost, and discovers a new planet! Vanessa cleans out her car's reactor core, and discovers a new element! And I outshine them both with the greatest discovery of all: the _Audi GX-Eleventy Billion Trans-Galaxy_, a car you can quite literally drive from one end of the galaxy to the other! Plus: some say he's a native of Epsilon Eridani who came to our world millions of years ago, and that his tears cure cancer, even though he never cries. All we know is, he's called _THE STIG!_"

**_Click.  
_**  
Yet another foreign channel, this time featuring a tall and incredibly muscular white man with blond hair, a thick mustache, and wearing a business suit, and a necklace of what looked like the teeth of a shark or a crocodile...

"G'day mates!" began the man in a thick foreign accent, "my name is Saxton Crowe, and I'm the lead researchah n' executive directah o' The Company™'s _Reefah-Nine Undah-Sea Research Base_, 'ere in the Great Barriah Reef, down 'ere in the ANZ (that's "Union o' Oztralia n' New Zoiland" for all you non-Anzies out there!). 'Ere at The Company™, we're always pushin' the boundaries of science, technology, and human endeavah! Reefah-Nine is at the cuttin' edge o' many breakthroughs in bio-medical research every day. I myself will be headin' ovah to Epsilon Eridani on the _UNSV Joseph Conrad _to study the unique and interestin' lifeforms and... oh, CRIKEY! Check out that creacha ovah there! That a _saltwater crocodile_? Crikey mates, what a beauty! Tell ya what, I'm gonna go out there... and I'm gonna FIGHT IT! 'Cos I really LOVE fightin', ya see! Be right back!"

**_Click._**

Yet another music video...

_"Atlo hosh na mi danam!  
Hum hai dil hai aur janam!  
Bas deewangi deewangi deewangi hai!  
Na koi rahe sam rahe par!  
Yeh ilzaam lage kispar!  
Bas deewangi deewangi deewangi hai!  
All cute girls put your hands up and sing:  
OM SHANTI OM!  
All cool boys c'mon and make some noise!  
OM SHANTI OM!"_

**_Click.  
_**  
The next channel was the news. Well, better this than some of the other options...

"Hello _namaste_! Welcome back to NDTV Evening News. This is Deeptika Sukdhik, live from the 2,000th floor of Masrani Tower, Downtown Mumbai!" The smartly dressed young woman seated at the news desk smiled and winked at the camera before continuing: "President Amrish Molaram, addressing both houses of Parliament today, had this to say about the state of our economy."

The holoscreen cut to the interior of the _Sansad Bhavan_ (Parliament House) in Delhi, where thousands of Parliamentarians and other corrupt politicians were seated. Addressing them all was a tall, dark, bald, and imposing, but polite and well-spoken man in a well-pressed business suit. "My fellow Indians!" spoke the man, "based on projections by the National Institute of Statistics, India will overtake Turkey next year as Earth's _tenth_ largest economy in GDP! For this reason, I am pushing forward a bill that will provide further stimulus to our economy, particularly to our hard-working billionaires and megacorps like Tata and Masrani who have helped us achieve this great milestone! This bill has already passed through the _Lok Sabha_ with bipartisan support from both the BJP and the Congress Party. HOPE and CHANGE have truly come to India! The future looks great for our nation! Vishnu bless you, and bless India! _Kali ma, shakti de!_"

The screen then cut back to the news desk. Ms. Sukdhik continued: "as you know, although India overtook China in the mid-21st century as the most populous nation on Earth, nonetheless, a number of setbacks and disasters, such as severe droughts, famines, cyclones, viral pandemics, rising sea levels, and of course the nuclear war with Pakistan and the decades-long period of post-war reconstruction and reclamation of irradiated areas, led to our nation falling as low as _25th_ in the world in GDP by 2060. Even after the post-war recovery, our nation continued to fall behind other newly emerged economic powers, such as Turkey, Brazil, Nigeria, Mexico, the Union Of Russian Republics (URR), New Persia, and Central Asiastan, and certainly far behind established economic powers such as the USA, China, Germany, Japan, United Korea, and the Union Of Australia &amp; New Zealand. Not any more! The announcement today that our economy will overtake Turkey by next year has been greeted with great applause throughout our financial sector, with stocks at the Mumbai Stock Exchange rising over a hundred points, and Kolkata, Delhi, Bangalore, Chennai, Hyderabad, Pune, Katmandu, Colombo, and Dhaka are all reporting similar result!"

_All of this sounds good and well, but does it really change anything?,_ thought Arjun to himself, glumly. _I will still be going back to work tomorrow, will still be underpaid, overworked, treated like shit..._

The holoscreen changed again, this time showing a massive lattice structure hovering serenely in space, as a dozen ships hovered around it, disgorging hundreds of workers and exobots slaving away on assembling the construct. Deeptika continued: "the first stage of construction has begun on the _Viha-Ga_. The project to create the largest manmade orbital structure, actually a collection of several separate but interconnected stations and docks, is an ambitious partnership between the Masrani Group, Tata, Reliance Industries, Aditya-Birla, Bajaj, and Britain's Topham-Weyland Corporation, with backing from Grupo Itaúsa of Brazil, and the Swiss Bank of Zurich. When completed, the _Viha-Ga_ is hoped to dwarf even those orbital shipyards on Mars currently operated by Germany's Galaxiewerke AG, and the Chinese/Vietnamese Sinoviet Heavy Engineering Corporation. Even though most of the work is automated, construction on this project is still expected to produce over _three __million_ new jobs over the next five years."

The news anchor continued: "Meanwhile, the Ministry Of Rail And Road Transportation is happy to announce the Trans-Himalayan Highway Tunnel to China will reopen at exactly 9pm tonight after repairs were completed on the section near Thimphu, State Of Bhutan. Yesterday's 7.8 earthquake was the largest earthquake to strike the region since the Great Himalayan Megaquake of 2051, which was so devastating to the entire region that it ended up being a major factor that lead to India's eventual intervention and annexation of the formerly independent countries of Bhutan, Nepal, and Bangladesh. Fortunately, seismologists of the Indian Geophysical Union were able to predict the exact time and magnitude of the more recent event almost to the second using the latest geological analysis technology. Thus, thanks to adequate warning and preparation, total casualties came out to no more than fifty officially reported."

"Sahep Blattaar, President of the Federation of International Cricket Association, has announced that he will resign after facing numerous scandals and allegations of corruption. Blattaar has been the president of FICA for the last thirty years, and is largely responsible for hosting the last five FICA Cricket World Cups all here in India, including the 2154 Cup that was hosted at our Chandrasekhar Colony on Mars. The sudden departure of Blattaar is certain to shake the foundation that governs cricket throughout Earth and the Colonies."

"And finally, Professor Satyendra Motti of the Indira Gandhi National University of Delhi has caused a stir among the international scientific community with his new claim that higher-than-average radiation findings around Kurukshetra, State of Haryana, and site of the legendary battle that forms the basis of _The Mahabharata_, prove that an ancient alien race with advanced technology was active here on Earth during the Vedic Age, and that this race may also have been responsible for the seeding of 'exo-human' populations over in Epsilon Eridani. The international scientific and archaeological community was quick to chastise Prof. Motti for this crackpot theory, replying that the higher-than-average radiation levels are simply residual radiation from the Nuclear War with Pakistan over a century ago."

"Alright, that's enough boring news for tonight!" smiled Deeptika, "and now, here is the moment you've all been waiting for! We'll be taking you live to Masrani World Expo Center here in Mumbai where the CEO himself, Mr. Zaeed Masrani, will be announcing the winner of the nationwide lottery for who will earn a place on Humanity's newest colony over in Epsilon Eridani!"

The holoscreen changed to show the interior of the Masrani World Expo Center. Tens of thousands had gathered there tonight, clutching their lottery tickets, eager to see who would win a once-in-a-lifetime chance to build a new life out among the stars. The crowd grew silent as the lights in the auditorium went dim, leaving only the stage alight.

"Hello, _namaste_! Good evening ladies and gentlemen!" shouted the main man himself, Mr. Zaeed Masrani, as he casually strode out onto the stage, dressed smartly in his distinctive purple shirt, beige business suit, and high-tech sunglasses, looking more like the handsome male lead of a Bollywood holo-movie than the CEO of India's largest and most ruthless megacorp, and the twelfth richest man throughout Earth and the Colonies. The crowd went wild with applause.

"Thank you, thank you, please settle down," continued Mr. Masrani. As if on command, the audience quietened down, almost as if disobeying him meant an automatic loss on the lottery. He continued: "First off, I am happy to announce that I have just been informed that tonight's show has broken a new ratings record here in India with _two__ billion views_! As promised, I will now donate ten thousand _crore_ rupees of my personal fortune towards one hundred schools and hospitals across India!" The crowd cheered. He continued: "I am also donating another _lakh crore_ of my personal fortune towards my project to give all three billion Indians free unlimited access to the Holonet by 2160. Yes, _free Holonet for EVERYONE_, forever and ever!" The crowd cheered even _louder_.

"Now, enough of that! Let us get to the main event of tonight, shall we?" smiled Mr. Masrani, chewing the scenery for all it was worth, "as you all know, the Masrani Group is happy to announce that we have entered a deal with The Company™, and have purchased passage for 150 personnel to travel to the Epsilon Eridani System aboard the _UNSV Joseph Conrad_ when it departs Earth in just over a couple weeks from now! We have already hand-selected 50 of our corporate personnel and 95 colonists from across India – 95 young men and women who will carry forth our nation into a new world! But there are _five seats _left! Yes, one of **_YOU_**, ladies and gentlemen, will be the lucky winner to win a place for yourself and four of your friends or family... on this _historic voyage_! Miss India, please come and assist me!"

Onto the stage stepped the winner of that year's Miss India Beauty Pageant 2154, who would go on to represent India in the Miss Sol System Beauty Pageant 2155 next year, which would be hosted on Mars. She was beautifully dressed in a rather scanty silk sari, and she was carrying an envelope...

"Thank you for coming here tonight, Miss India!" smiled Mr. Masrani, who then turned to face the audience: "inside this envelope is the ten-digit winning lottery number! Yes, my friends, only ten digits separate you and your family from starting a new life over among the great wonders of Epsilon Eridani! Miss India, would you kindly do the honors?"

Miss India (whose real name honestly didn't matter) smiled and opened the envelope, and began to read. The audience, both those gathered there tonight and billions across the nation, fell silent. She began: "Zero... one... two... three... four... five... six... seven... eight... nine!"

"0123456789?" asked Mr. Masrani, incredulously, "that is quite possibly one of the dumbest numbers I have ever seen... um... okay, uh, anyone out there have 0123456789? Anyone at all? No? Well, no problem! The hotline will remain open for the next ten minutes! If no winner has called in by then, we will draw the next number! I'll see you all again, after this commercial break!"

The holovision immediately cut to yet another advertisement, but Arjun Kumar realized by then just what had happened. Mowgli Kumar looked ecstatic, unable to contain himself with sheer joy. Latika and Devi Kumar too were thrilled, as Devi immediately reached for the nearest phone. Sunil Kumar said nothing and just sat in the corner, skulking. At that moment, Arjun never felt happier in his life. Yes, thanks to his youngest son, the five of them together were going to leave this old world behind them. Together, they would build a new life for themselves... in Epsilon Eridani.

* * *

_**Footnotes:  
**_

_1\. Most of this chapter is based on my personal experiences from a visit I once made to India (though to Delhi, Agra, and Kolkata rather than Mumbai), except modified to make them more "cyberpunk-ish". Ox-carts in the streets? Make them robotic oxen! People riding on the roof of a train? Make those trains futuristic maglevs! Monkeys eating out of dumpsters and being a public nuisance? Make them radioactive mutant monkeys!_

_2\. Most of the Hindi lyrics and stuff are actual Bollywood songs pulled from a number of sources. The Hindi tagline for Coca Cola is the actual one they use in India; the Yogi's sermon are taken from the lyrics to some 1970's hippy song (with a few extra bits thrown in); and Taj Hotels is an actual 5-star hotel chain in India. The rest are all in-jokes meant to be all in good humor and jest, and not offensive. If anyone has any issues, let me know and I'll edit it._


	86. Tyrion 3

**Tyrion (III)**

"First rank, fire!" roared the captain.

**_B-B-B-BANG-BA-AH-BA-BANG!_** came the roar of a thousand bolts of fire and iron, spat at the line of wooden boards and targets set up at the other end of the field. Somehow, not a single shot managed to hit any of the targets, save for a handful of lucky ones. Things were not looking good at all.

"I suppose we should at least be grateful they're all firing in the same direction," remarked _Colonel _Tyrion Lannister snidely as he paced back and forth behind the ranks of trainees.

"Couldn't have put it better meself, sir," replied the captain, one former sellsword by the name of Bronn. He was one of several dozen freelancers his dear sister Cersei had hired to help bulk up the numbers of the King's Landing Rifles. The sellswords were no better at using the new weapons than the levies, but at least they had seen combat before, were used to the chaos and dust and noise and the sight and stench of blood and entrails and disembodied limbs strewn everywhere, and were therefore much less inclined to break and flee. For this reason, a handful of the more experienced sellswords had been quickly rushed through training to serve as a special class of officer, separate from those more noble officers appointed from amongst the nobility, who would be solely in charge of keeping the otherwise rowdy smallfolk in some semblance of order. When battle finally came, these officers, distinguished by the black coats and Lannister red sashes they wore, were each issued a leather lash, for purposes of administering discipline, and a fire-arm of their own… and an order to pass _summary judgment_ on any of their subordinates who might get it within their head to flee…

Colonel Tyrion also took a moment to admire the new uniforms. The first thousand or so had arrived last week. Lovely things these: tunics dyed in golden-brown, meant to symbolize both Baratheon yellow and Lannister gold, with a single line of brass buttons down the front, while the officers wore a double line. Atop this, each trooper wore a steel cuirass and a belt that ran from one shoulder down to the hip, which carried the pouches for all of the ammunition, and a wide steel helm that covered the head, with a spike on top (mainly for decorative purposes). As part of their training and discipline, the King's Landing Rifles were expected to keep their new uniforms clean and tidy, as well as bathe at least _once_ a week, and shave every other day. They couldn't shoot for shit, but they at least looked pretty damn good.

Ever since the former Hand's uprising, the King and the Queen-Mother had both been in a right fix. Just yesterday morning, Lord-Commander Slynt had been found with two of his lieutenants, their throats slit wide open, and about fifty rifles and ten crates of ammunition missing from the armory. Tyrion had to wonder who in Seven Hells could have pulled that off – Faceless Men perhaps? Then what in the Seven's name were they doing here in King's Landing? Collecting for the Iron Bank? Tyrion dreaded what would become of the Crown's delicate finances in his absence, for, you see, he had just earned himself a rather impromptu "promotion" to interim commander of the Rifles to fill's Slynt's post for now – no doubt the machinations of someone who really wanted him out of the treasury. And it was for that reason that he was here today.

And, speak of the Stranger, guess who was it exactly whom Tyrion now beheld as the party of a dozen people entered onto the training grounds…

"Hail Joffrey!" shouted one of the officers, sticking his right arm straight forward in the iconic Lannister Salute, as His Grace himself strode onto the training grounds, flanked on either side by his Kingsguards, each wearing a banner bolted to the backplate of his armor. One bore the golden lion of Casterly Rock, the other the great stag of Storm's End. The King today was accompanied by Her Grace the Royal Queen Mother, and some dozen or so more guards, retainers, and a few dignitaries as well. Tyrion recognized one such guest as that Merchant Prince of the Sky-People, Lord Frederick Kovacs, dressed as always smartly in his Sky-People clothing called a "business suit". At the urging of their officers, most of the assembled Rifles-in-training quickly stood at attention, laying their rifles on their left shoulder while saluting His Grace with the right hand.

"HAIL JOFFREY!" saluted the entire unit at once.

_In need of more entertainment, Your Grace?_ thought Tyrion to himself, _unable to find any more puppies to kick around at the Red Keep today?_ He could still remember vividly the scene yesterday when a couple dozen 'political dissidents' and other residents of the Black Cells were made the subject of that day's target practice for the King's personal enjoyment, including three who were strapped to the front of one of the 12-pounders. Bits and pieces of them could still be found laying about the field, providing a feast for crows…

King Joffrey Baratheon, First and Worst of His Name, was fuming, as usual. He did not even find the time and effort to shoot his normal looks of disdain and contempt towards his uncle. "Is this information of yours valid, _Lord Kovacs?_" he scowled.

"It is, your most wonderful-ness," replied Lord Frederick Kovacs as he strode alongside the Boy King. "I told you, everything I had to say, I already said to Her worshipful-ness the Queen Mother."

"'Tis true, my dear," spoke Queen Cersei, evidently embarrassed of her son's conduct in front of their honored guest (and sole supplier of the much vaunted ammunition), "the traitor's son Robb Stark and his army departed Winterfell a few days ago; they're making full haste for the Neck as we speak."

"And you did _nothing_ to stop them?" seethed the King, "I thought we had a deal, Lord Kovacs!"

"The promise I made to your grandfather was to provide an army and information, Your Majesty," replied Frederick. "I told you, the laws of my land forbid me from doing anything more. I cannot and will not fight _your_ wars for you. Of course, if that's not good enough for you, simply tell me so, and I will leave."

The King was furious, but to his credit, somehow knew better than to continue to insult his principal source of firearms – perhaps the Queen-Mother's counseling had some say in it. Instead, he redirected his fury towards his uncle, the existence of whom he finally seemed to acknowledge for the first time today.

"Uncle," hissed the King, "I do not presume you have already heard the news that our… _good friend_ Lord Kovacs comes to us today bearing?"

"No, I have not," replied the Halfman, and then turned to face their guest, "though you must excuse my manners. Lord Kovacs, what a pleasant surprise it is to be seeing you here. I hope this day bids you well."

"Well enough," replied the Merchant Prince, "I'm really sorry to hear about all this stuff that's been going on around here. My condolences for Robert, he was a… a good man, yes. And I'm shocked as much as anyone to hear about this treason of Ned's. Gosh, who woulda thunk it, right? I was hoping I'd get to visit Ned down in his cell, you know, ask him what the hell was he thinking when he… so _brazenly_ decided to betray you, Your Majesty! This treason is unforgivable! Don't worry though, I have ceased my trade ties with Winterfell. Ned's actions are inexcusable!"

"I told you, the traitor lord is not to be seen by anyone until he confesses his crimes," fumed Cersei, "according to Varys, the isolation makes him more desperate, more willing to confess his crimes against the Crown."

_Ah, my dear sister_, thought Tyrion, _still in denial as always that you let the crafty Northman slip right through your fingers. And what, pray tell, will we do if, by some miraculous chance, Ned Stark were to show up in Winterfell? Would we continue to flaunt this story even then? _He decided to change the subject: "By the way, I hope you do not mind me if I ask where is your dear Lady Vaenya? Is she not normally with you?"

"Oh, she's just out and about, exploring the city," replied Frederick, "I thought I'd let her take a break today, we never really got to see what's around town."

Tyrion looked at the rest of the party. The Hound was there too, as well as a new face Tyrion had never seen before…

"Lord Phineas Edgerton," spoke the man, stepping forward and extending a hand. He looked in his late twenties, well-groomed, with mustache. "A pleasure to meet you, Lord Tyrion Lannister!"

"I have heard of you," replied the Halfman, "yes, you are the Editor-In-Chief of _The Kingspost_, are you not? I am, unfortunately, familiar with your work."

"Now, now, my lord, no hard feelings," smiled Phineas, smugly, "I understand that you may not have taken too much of a personal liking to some of our more recent investigative pieces… but you must understand that _The Kingspost_ exists only for one reason, and that is to present the truth, whatever it may be, to the people in a reliable and accurate manner! For instance, I thought I would join His Grace today on this tour of the King's Landing Rifles; I am writing an investigative piece into our new army and how we are now the greatest and most unstoppable force in the world and how surely we will crush these duplicitous Northmen once and for all!"

Joffrey usually enjoyed this kind of flattery, but by this point, his patience had run short, and so he interrupted the banter: "Uncle, perhaps you would be so kind as to... _guide our new regiment to the front?_"

"My dear nephew," replied Tyrion, honestly surprised though he should have seen this coming, "I am no expert on fire-arms, but I know enough to tell you that this army is far from ready. We need more time."

"Pish. Rubbish!" sneered Joffrey, "You have superior firepower and a larger force. I am ordering the King's Landing Rifles to move out against the traitor Robb Stark!"

"Dear brother," spoke up Cersei, trying to mitigate the stupidity and tactlessness of her son with some stupidity and tactlessness of her own, "our Lord Father is marching east along the River Road as we speak. You will meet up with him at Riverrun, where you will, of course, ensure the loyalty of House Tully and the Riverlords, remind them as to whom their _true king_ is. You will then join your strength to his, and in doing so, forge a mighty army the likes of which this world has not seen since the Conquest! And when the time is right, you will track down these rogue Northmen and crush them like the miserable dogs they are! Not even the Neck will stand before the might of our rifles and cannons!" She turned to face their guest: "and when Winterfell is well and truly fallen, you, Lord Kovacs, will have the wardenship of the North, just as my Lord Father promised in return for all of this great assistance you have given us."

Lord Frederick rolled his eyes. "I, uh, thank you, your Majesty, but you see, there is one small matter that may prove a bit of a hitch in your plans." Frederick turned and shouted at the rifleman-in-training standing nearest him. "You! Soldier, what's your name?"

"M-Me?" stammered the soldier, "P-P-Podrick, M'lord! P-P-P-Private Podrick Payne."

"I believe he's a distant cousin of Ser Ilyn, the King's Justice," explained Tyrion.

"Ah, some blue blood in this army finally," muttered Frederick, "nice to know they're not all thieves and whores around here. Shoot me, Private Payne."

"I-I-I-I… what?" exclaimed the bumbling rifleman.

Frederick strode out onto the firing range, and then stood in front of one of the wooden target boards. He cleared his throat and spoke, addressing Tyrion directly: "Colonel Tyrion, tell this man to fire at me."

"I beg your pardon?" asked the Halfman.

"You heard me," shouted Frederick as he slowly reached down... and drew a pistol from his belt. "Tell this man that if he does not shoot me, _I will kill him_." He slowly pointed his pistol in Private Payne's direction…

"Lord Kovacs," shouted Captain Bronn, "if I might have a word…"

**_BANG!_**

The first shot was a warning shot fired harmlessly into the air, but it was enough to let everyone know that Lord Kovacs was serious. "Load, _motherfucker_!" shouted Frederick, furious. Private Payne had pissed himself, frozen to the spot in horror.

**_BANG!_**

"I said LOAD!" shouted Frederick, again, red in the face. At last, Podrick, fumbling clumsily, got to work, pulling down the lever on his "Martini Henry", opening the breech and ejecting the spent training cartridge, pulling a fresh round out of his belt…

"That's not good enough! FASTER!" shouted Lord Frederick, and he calmly took a third warning shot.

**_BANG!_**

The bumbling rifleman shouldered his fire-arm, presented, his whole body quivering…

"Shoot me, you cocksucker!" roared Frederick, "Shoot me now! Shoot…"

**_BANG! _**

As suddenly as the shot had come, everything fell silent. Lord Kovacs stood still and quiet for a moment, then he calmly turned and walked over to where a fresh bullet hole had been made in the wall, some fifteen feet away from where he had been standing. The Merchant Prince took a few seconds to inspect the hole, and then calmly strode back across the range to join the King and the rest of his command staff. "I told you they're not ready... Your Majesty," he explained bluntly. With that, he then turned and stormed off the field. Admittedly, even Joffrey and Cersei were speechless with the sheer audacity they had just witnessed.

Unfortunately, this bold demonstration on Lord Frederick's part, while unquestionably dramatic, was ultimately all for naught. No sooner was he off the field and out of sight, when the King turned to address the rest of the gathered crowd. "Your orders come from _me_, your KING! Not some merchant prince! The regiment shall leave at first light tomorrow!" The King then turned to glare at his uncle… "Best get some early rest, uncle. You will need it for the long march."

* * *

Later that evening, the men gathered in the mess hall for what would probably be the final decent meal for a while – Tyrion had never served in an army on the march, but from what he had heard, field rations left much to be desired. The officers, of course, appointed from among some of the finest and most loyal houses throughout the Crownlands and Stormlands, ate separately from the rest of the lowly cannon fodder. While the miserable and worthless regulars contented themselves on gruel and curds and a pint of sour ale that tasted like it was distilled from horse piss, the officers meanwhile helped themselves to richly grilled and spiced legs of honeyed chicken and lamb, salmon pies, freshly baked black bread, a hearty cream of asparagus soup, and a couple kegs of Arbor gold to wash it all down. For dessert, lemon cakes were to be had by all.

Helping himself to another glass of the Arbor gold, the Little Colonel found the Merchant Prince seated in the corner, alone, fumbling around with that little box of his, that so-called "MyPhone". He thought to join him. "My sincerest apologies, Lord Kovacs," spoke Tyrion, as he took a seat on the bench next to him, "that you risked your life to prove a point to my nephew in vain."

Frederick, however, smiled and laughed. "_Risked my life?_ What the hell are you talking about?" he said. He opened the jacket of his business suit, revealing a thick black vest that he wore atop his shirt and tie. He continued: "Cygnus Security Systems DSV-5000 Personal Deflector Shield Generator Vest – I'm borrowing it from some friends in the UNCDF for the day; figured I'd be a little more careful after a little incident we had at our colony a few weeks where I almost died. This is some serious top of the line shit right here, but only for VIPs; the army won't even be getting anything like this for the regular grunts for at least another decade. It won't stop the higher level stuff, even on a full charge, but it'll definitely stop shrapnel and weaker stuff, like this lousy, second-rate ammunition we're selling to you guys and the Starks too, since the UN probably wouldn't like us selling you guys proper UNCDF-grade ammo. But point is: even if the poor bastard had gotten lucky, the worst I'd have walked away with is a bruise. You've gotta be kidding if you think I'd risk getting myself _killed_ to make a point to your bratty little nephew! Oh, and by the way, that gun I was pointing at you guys? _Blanks_ – you can never take gun safety seriously enough, as I'm sure your late king found out to his chagrin. My condolences, but honestly, if he didn't bother reading the frickin' user's manual, he was pretty much askin' for it. Sorry if I'm being a little obtuse here."

Tyrion neither knew nor understood fully what exactly a "Deflector Shield" was, but he reasoned it must have been yet another work of sorcery that had given Frederick the courage to have pulled such a daring stunt as today's. Tyrion couldn't help but admit to himself that Lord Frederick Kovacs certainly had a flare for the dramatic. He laughed, even though he knew he should also be furious at him. "Lord Kovacs, please tell me you will be joining us on the march," smiled Tyrion, "I could always do with a travel companion who will keep me somewhat mildly entertained."

"Ha, would I!" smiled Frederick back. He suddenly stopped, and looked down at his MyPhone… "Sorry, I just got a text and it looks important. Yeah, Veni says she found something I might want to take a look at, so I might have to excuse myself here. Thanks for the free food, I'll remember to pack a doggy-bag next time so I can save up on meal coupons back at the colony." He got up onto his feet and was about to walk off, but then stopped and looked back. "Look, Tyrion? Listen: your nephew ain't listening, but you know that your men just aren't ready. You march out tomorrow, well, there's a good chance most of you will die. And then your nephew will get all pissed off and shout at me for supplying him a bad army even though I warned him so... maybe even demand a refund or at least a discount on the replacement army."

Tyrion sighed. "I understand Lord Kovacs... but I do as I must. Besides, I might actually find myself enjoying the countryside - it will be... _nice_ to be out of the capital."

"No chance you can just say 'fuck it' and run off somewhere with the Rifles? It'd be a shame for you to have to throw your life away for... _these_ people."

"_These people_ are already looking for anything they can use against me as it is," replied Tyrion, sadly, "I scarcely imagine my Lord Father would take too kindly if I were to abscond with the precious fire-arms he needs to bolster his war effort against the North."

Frederick frowned. "Well, good luck out there, okay man? Regardless of how all this goes down and whoever comes out on top of this whole clusterfuck, Stark or Lannister or Baratheon or Targaryen or whoever… there'll always be a need for bros like you, so when the shit hits the fan, you'd better remember to duck! Alright, cheers, Halfdude. Be seein' ya."

And then Tyrion was alone again at the table, but as he poured himself another Arbor gold, it had occurred to him that something Lord Kovacs said was a little odd. _Did he… say Targaryen? _thought the Halfdude to himself.


	87. Sansa 3

**Sansa (III)  
**  
The last few days must have been the worst in her entire life. Sansa had no honest idea how they possibly could have gotten any worse...

Well, actually she could think of a few. For starters, she shuddered, they could have taken her maidenhead – by the good grace of the Gods, they had not. But that was one small piece of comfort next to the other nightmares she had been forced to endure, there, in that horrid place, where she had been given to the darkness.

She had been alone, cold, starved, even beaten several times, and kept in a dark, fetid cell for what seemed like an eternity. She had cried, sobbed, wept, wailed, screamed, and finally, when she had drained herself completely, cold and hungry and miserable as she was, she had curled up in fetal position on the hard stone floor, and surrendered herself to whatever passed for rest and peace of the mind in this hell. And when she slept, sometimes, she would relive again and again the events of that terrible day that now seemed aeons ago...

It had all happened so fast. It had been a day like any other, and she was even planning to go out riding that afternoon with her dear husband-to-be. And then it had all come crumbling apart all of a sudden, for reasons Sansa did not yet fully understand. There had been no time for anything to be explained to her; just like that, the soldiers had come to the Tower, Commander Slynt demanding her lord father's arrest for treason. It must have been a mistake! Her honest and honorable lord father, a traitor? If only she could see her husband-to-be, explain to him everything!

But no. The fighting began, the awful cracking and roaring of the fire-arms, the great crash of that monstrous so-called "cannon" that had brought a chunk of the Tower crumbling in, the noise, the smoke, the dust, the smell of blood and death and the cries of the wounded... Sansa had only heard stories of the nightmares her lord father had lived through back in the Rebellion against the Mad King, and yet there and then, the nightmare had sprung to life before her very eyes and ears.

And the nightmare was only just beginning. Thanks to her sister's quick thinking, a means of escape and salvation had been found, but it was a long and dark and filthy tunnel, and as they found out soon enough, one that held only further nightmares in store for them. Perhaps it was a small mercy that the tunnel had been so dark, so that Sansa could at least be spared the sight of those horrible, raggedy men who had lain in wait for them, who had seized her and dragged her to that damp and dingy cell where she had spent what must have been a week at most, but felt like a century.

The worst part was the isolation and the uncertainty, the great fear that came from being locked in, no contact with anyone else save the guards who came once a day to give her some meager bread and water, and, if they felt it, a beating as well. She tried to plead with them, and to find out what was going on outside, if her father and sister were there as well, and what they planned to do with her, but all to no avail.

And then, last night, something extraordinary had happened: someone had come to rescue her. Two figures, whom Sansa had taken to be the guards at first, had come to her claiming to have been sent by "a friend", and unlocked her cell for her. They spoke to her with gentle voices, telling her that she must follow them. It was too good to be true, and she had taken their word for it, crying out of sheer relief. She felt too weak to walk, so one of the kindly strangers carried her off into the tunnels.

And it was now, at that moment, that Sansa Stark now found herself sitting alone in a ship's cabin, peering out of the glass window as King's Landing, glowing deceptively beautiful in the early morning sun, slowly disappeared from view. She was locked in this cabin, told by her rescuers to stay inside and be quiet until they were well away from the city, but at least it was an enormous improvement over what she had just hours earlier. A warm bath had been prepared in the cabin, so that she may clean herself off, and there was fresh, clean clothing folded neatly on the bed. There was also food and wine prepared for her. Someone had even remembered to pack her favorite lemon cakes.

It was only around noon, when the ship was well and truly away from the city, that Sansa finally heard someone come to the door. The bolt was unlocked, and a man entered the cabin. For a second, she blinked in disbelief.

"Baelish?!" she cried out.

But the former and disgraced Master-Of-Coin calmly strode forward and placed a hand over her mouth, shushing her up. "You must rest, child," spoke the man in as gentle a voice as he could manage, "everything will be alright."

"What... what..." she stammered, "what are you doing here? Last... last time I saw you... you tried to poison Joffrey!"

"Now, now, do you honestly believe 'twas I?" replied Baelish, rolling his eyes, "as to your first question, well, the answer is simple: I was having you _rescued_ from the Black Cells. I would have gone myself, but I am sure you are well aware that I cannot risk showing my face anywhere these days."

"It was... _you_ who saved me?"

"Of course. How could I let Joffrey have his way with you?"

"Oh, thank you Lord Baelish!" sobbed Sansa, throwing herself into his arms. "It... it was horrible! Ghastly! I was... I was ..." She struggled to finish her sentence.

"Now, now," replied Littlefinger, reassuringly, "there is no need to work yourself up. You are perfectly safe with me... for now."

"I do not understand it all!" blurted Sansa. "Why would my Joffrey do this to me? How could he? What have I done?"

"The unfortunate truth of the matter is that your father has been declared traitor," explained Baelish, "as to his current whereabouts, and those of your sister, I am afraid I know not, only that they are now outlaws, little more than brigands."

"But what has father done to deserve this? Where is he and where is Arya too? Oh, we must turn back and look for them! Where is this ship going?"

"Somewhere safe and well away from the capital, that much is certain," replied Baelish, "I have made arrangements with a... good friend of mine, you will see."

"No, no, you do not understand! I must return home!" insisted Sansa, realizing for the first time in months how much she truly missed Winterfell... "I must return to mother! To Robb and Brandon and Rickon too! And I must find father and... and Arya!"

"All in good time, child, all in good time," replied Littlefinger, keeping his cool. "You must calm yourself. Listen, the King has declared your family traitors – he will raise all of the other Great Houses against them, no doubt. As much as it pains you, we must bide our time and see how events transpire. I would be doing you a great disservice to return you to Winterfell now only to have you snapped up back into the Lions' claws."

"And shall I just stand idly by and let my family suffer?" said Sansa, adamantly, "I implore you! For the love and friendship you once held for my lady mother, you return me home! And when the Lions come for us, you must help us!"

"Patience, my dear," said Littlefinger, calmly but firmly. He sat down beside her, looked her straight into her eyes, and placed his hands on her shoulders, partly to reassure her, but also to remind her who was in control here. "I told you before: arrangements have been made that will ensure our safety, however events may play out. But do not worry, for I shall do all in my power to help you and your family." He smiled and patted her gently on the thigh. "Would I ever lie to you, dear Sansa?"

There came a knock on the door. Baelish stopped. "Oh bother," he muttered as he stood up and strode over to the door. "What is it now?" he scowled, as he opened it. Sansa could not see the man standing just outside too clearly from behind Petyr's back, but she would later on learn that the man was the ship's boatswain, a Braavosi by the name of Aleppo.

"Master Baelish!" spoke the sailor in his Free Cities accent, "we have a ship 'bout half-a-mile off the port side, hailing us. They want to come aboard!"

Littlefinger was annoyed, both at this interruption, and at whichever ship felt the impudence to have caused it. "Ignore them and stay the course," he replied, "who are they anyway? Pirates masquerading as a merchant vessel? For the love of the Gods, it had better not be the Sky-People, or we are well and truly finished!"

Aleppo however shook his head, the look of worry on his face. "No, my lord, it is neither. It is _worse_: the ship flies a flag of yellow, a black stag and flaming heart within. It is one of Dragonstone's, my lord."

Baelish stared at the sailor for a second in silence. Then he quietly cursed under his breath. "Stannis would never attack a civilian trading vessel, not without good reason... hmmm... and even then, the ocean is a big place; our chances of running into him of all people were minimal at best. No, the only possible explanation is that someone must have informed him of our course and heading. Well, it appears we have a traitor in our midsts then."

"What shall we do now, my lord?" asked the boatswain, "why, if he catches us, he will surely search the ship! He will find the girl, he will find the goods..."

"_If_ he catches us at all," replied Baelish, snidely, "fortunately for all of us, I had foreseen this possibility, and made appropriate preparations. Tell me: is this not the fastest ship and the finest crew in all the Narrow Sea?"

"It most certainly is, my lord," answered Aleppo.

"Faster, at the very least, than even the fastest warship in the Royal Fleet?"

"Oh, most definitely, my lord."

"Then it is bloody simple, is it not?" replied Littlefinger, matter-of-factly, "order Captain Damasco to prove that both my coin and my faith in his reputation were all well invested. Do so, and this incident shall prove little more than a minor inconvenience. No, I am far more perturbed by this implication that we may have an informant in our midsts. I will have to investigate further once we arrive at..."

There was a muffled roar off in the distance, like the clapping of a great thunderstorm at sea. But Sansa knew very well by now what that sound was, and evidently so too did Baelish, because she immediately saw something in his eyes that neither she nor anyone else had seldom seen before: fear. The fear that came only from uncertainty, from knowing that for the first time in a long time, things had not transpired just as planned.


	88. Melisandre 3

_**Foreword**: in this update, someone puts the "party" in "boarding party" while another gets almost literally drunk with power... FIREpower that is..._

* * *

**Melisandre (III)  
**  
"You are certain of this?" frowned the King, the _rightful King_ and Chosen of the Lord Of Light, Stannis of the House Baratheon of Dragonstone, as he paced back and forth across the great warship's forecastle, surveying the scene before him.

"My Lord," spoke up the Lady Melisandre from where she stood behind his left shoulder, "I have seen it and I have _felt_ it too; that is the ship we are looking for. The Lord does not lie to the faithful." She was not lying: even from this distance, if she focused hard enough, she could sense the "heat of life" that burned within the individual crew-members and passengers of that ship. And she knew that at least two of those aboard it were people of great value to their cause. _And I can also feel their fear_...

Over the last few months, she could feel a bizarre change coming over her – where once she could see what the future held in her flames, her visions had as of late slowly begun to fade into a swirling madness, with only the occasional glimpse into a small island of lucidity amidst the vast and turbulent seas of incomprehensibility. _I keep asking the Lord Of Light to show me the future_, she mused to herself, _and all he shows me now is chaos_.

But what she was losing in her abilities to grasp the future, she had gained significantly more in her powers to shape the present. She could feel that her inner "fire of life" burned more fiercely than ever before, and the large ruby she wore around her neck seemed to glow far more brightly every time she channeled this power. She found that she could cast her flames further and brighter with each passing week. And her perception of the physical world around her had grown a dozen-fold. While she was grateful for these new gifts R'hlorr had seen fit to bestow upon her, she was deeply troubled by the gradual loss of her old skills, and the worst news was that two other Red Priests she had been in touch with lately had reported the same. She secretly wondered if the Sky-People had anything to do with it, or if they were not, who else could it be. Perhaps her mission to unite this troubled land under Azor Ahai himself had now become more urgent than ever before...

The vessel in the distance continued to plow onwards across the blue surf, pulling ever further and further away from them. "Have they not seen our signal?" scowled the King.

"Your Grace, they most certainly would have seen our hails to them by now," replied Ser Davos Seaworth from where he stood just behind the King's right shoulder, "and it appears they have elected to ignore it."

"Mediocre," sneered Stannis.

"Captain Damasco is known throughout the Narrow Sea for his skill of his crew and the speed of his ship, Your Grace," explained the Onion Knight, "normally, at these distances, it would be a sure bet that he would get away."

"But these are not normal circumstances, are they?" shot the King, "give these smugglers a taste of our newest acquisition."

"Your Grace, would we not be endangering all who are aboard?" asked Ser Davos, "including, well, her?" One could tell that he really was loyal and dutiful to his king, because he was unafraid to speak out whenever he found cause to question his decisions.

"Aye, you raise a fair point," replied King Stannis, mulling the thought over before turning to his left: "Lady Melisandre: perhaps you would be so kind as to lend your... _newfound_ skills to the cause."

"With pleasure, my lord," smiled the Red Woman, and with a grace and elegance that was unnatural aboard a ship tossed about in the waves as this, she strode down the steps to the main deck level, where the crewmen had been at work preparing something special and never seen before in these waters.

Perched at the front of the ship stood both of the King's newest possessions, which Ser Davos had managed to acquire quite recently, at great expense and greater effort, from a contact in White Harbor. Two great beasts now stood at the front of the ship's main deck, their gaping mouths pointed forward, their bodies crafted out of smooth steel.

Filling the bellies of these creatures was the same potent mix of charcoal, sulfur, saltpeter, and a few other things. It was a powder not too different from those she used to use to create her dazzling displays and illusions to impress the uninitiated masses, before her new powers negated their use. But she had not lost the skill or experience needed to masterfully bend these elements to her will, and thus it was that she had as of late begun developing a new technique of hers.

The crewmen were finishing loading the first of these beasts, these so-called "18-pounder long guns"; as she approached, they bowed and stood back as she approached them, perhaps more out of fear than reverence. She took her place beside it, looked to the sky, and prayed: "behold, oh great Lord Of Light! Grant your blessed fire unto this humble implement of your divine power, so it may serve you, and deliver your divine judgment upon the unworthy!" And then she gently laid a hand upon the iron beast's rump, took a second to take note of her surroundings, and worked her sorcery.

**_BOOOOOOM_** roared the great beast of steel as it came to life, kicking back several feet like a maddened horse, and spitting forth a great spout of richly red flame and iron and smoke, and she stumbled back, almost overcome with exhilaration and ecstasy at the raw heat and firepower surging through her. Time seemed to stand still as she perceived the shot careening through the air, almost as if guided towards its target by her sheer willpower. The shot splashed down in the waves, about a hundred feet off the fugitive vessel's starboard-side.

"You missed," chided Stannis.

"'Twas only a warning shot, My Lord," replied Melisandre. _It was actually a miss; I am not as infallible as these mortals believe I am_...

The King pulled out his Myrish Lens, held it up to his eyes, and surveyed the commotion that had erupted on the main deck of the other ship. "At least we have their attention now. Good, the panic will hinder their escape. Prepare the next shot."

The second cannon had already been prepared and loaded by the crew. This time, as she steeled herself for the task at hand, she made sure to adjust for wind and other factors as well that she had neglected the first time. Once more, she put her newfound gifts that R'hlor had seen fit to bless unto her to good use.

**_BOOOOM_**. The second of the two beasts unleashed its fury, causing the entire deck to shudder and shake from the recoil. In the blink of an eye, the shot closed the distance between the two ships, and this time, it found its mark. In midair, the iron ball split into two halves, connected by a six-foot length of chain between them. This deadly ball-and-chain combination was sent spinning and scything through the sails and rigging of the fugitive vessel. An unlucky crewman who had been scaling the ship's shrouds at the time was caught in its path and torn to shreds. It was not a very large ship, and the damage from this single hit was enough to leave a visible impact even from this distance.

King Stannis continued to survey the carnage from his vantage point. "That will slow them down. Helmsman, close distance! Gunnery, load the snare! Boarding party, ready thyselves!"

"Aye aye, Your Grace!" shouted the crew in unison. The gunnery crew went to work on the cannons; a fresh bag of powder had been rammed down the first beast's gullet, followed this time not by ball or chain shot, but with something a little different: a great steel harpoon, like those used by the whalers of Ibben, but larger, heavier, designed to spear targets of a different kind. Attached to the end of this harpoon was a length of thick rope hundreds of feet long, wound up in a roll at the base of the cannon.

Lady Melisandre once more closed her eyes and took a moment to perceive the world around her, the fugitive vessel's course and heading, the wind and the waves, and the great weight and ponderous shape of this new projectile. When she was ready, she began muttering a short prayer to the Lord Of Light, and channeling her power, her very life force, into this next shot.

Once more, the iron monster unleashed its temperament, when it sent that harpoon screaming through the air, pulling hundreds of feet of cord behind it. With a thick and dull **_THUMP_**, the steel dart planted itself deep into the flank of the other ship.

"We have our first catch of the day," remarked the King, "reel her in." At his command, several crewmen got to work, slowly turning the large round winch on the deck, usually used to hoist anchor, but today repurposed as something not too dissimilar to a fisherman's reel, only larger. The great rope pulled tight and taut; the other ship was well and truly caught.

The smaller vessel tossed and turned in the surf, struggling in vain to escape like the way a trout thrashes against a fisherman's line. It was then that the Red Priestess took note of something: one of the sailors on the other ship had climbed down from the deck and held onto the harpoon with one hand, desperately hacking away at the rope with a large knife with his other hand. So Melisandre calmly pointed her right hand at him. The man burst into flame, screaming, and threw himself into the waves below.

Both ships were now close enough that the King's crew began throwing grappling hooks and rope across with their own strength, further ensnaring both ships together. The crew of the smaller vessel tried to put up some meaningful resistance – some launched arrows or hurled spears at the King's warship, others tried to hack away at these grappling ropes with knives and axes, and the rest crowded the deck, waving cutlasses and daggers and shouting in some bold act of defiance.

Stannis' own archers returned the volley, while the rest of the King's motley crew assembled on deck, some thirty or so assorted swords, from noble bannermen of the Crownlands, to Lyseni corsairs, Essosi sellswords, and a handful of humble sailors armed with little more than daggers. Stannis, resplendent in his armor, cape billowing in the wind, strode to the front of this group, followed closely by his Onion Knight...

"Your Grace please," cautioned Ser Davos, "it could be dangerous. Let your bannermen and the sellswords win this one for you."

"I intend to win the Iron Throne by my own hand," retorted the King, "I shall make a start here." With that, he turned to address the rest of the gathered men. He stated simply and to the point: "Men! Come with me ... AND TAKE THIS SHIP!"

"HUZZAH!" cheered the rest of the men, and charged.

* * *

_**Footnotes:  
**__  
1\. How powerful exactly are __Melisandre's pyromancy and clairvoyance? In__ A Storm Of Swords, during the Battle of Castle Black, she demonstrated long distance, omni-directional fire control by identifying and destroying a small moving target (Orell's eagle). And she also claims that she could have put out the Wildfire at the Battle of Blackwater (though she might have said that just to spite Davos). To be fair, in this chapter, she does note that somehow, her magic has grown immensely in strength, at least far more than in the original story. Is this something we should be concerned about?_

_2\. The 18-pounder cannons featured here utilize three types of shot in this chapter: (1) "ball shot" (an ordinary solid iron cannonball); (2) "French chain shot", a type of chain shot wherein the cannonball splits into two halves joined by a length of chain; and__ (3) a harpoon similar to a whaling one.__ In general, the idea of using harpoons to snare enemy ships is not a new one, as it dates back at least to Ancient Rome._


	89. Melisandre 4

**Melisandre (IV)  
**  
The infidels resisted, but never stood a chance; the Lord Of Light's chosen commanded a fully-rigged and armed warship crewed by the most experienced swords and sailors he could muster at Dragonstone for this special mission. The small Braavosi vessel boasted a fine crew, yes, but they were smugglers, far more attuned to flight than to fight. On any other day, their skill and the speed of their ship would have served them well. Today was not any other day.

The battle was quick and bloody, and the King's men cut their way through the miserable sea dogs like a flaming sword through fresh butter. Afterwards, the King and his banners assembled on the main deck as the prisoners were rounded up and lined up for his scrutiny. Ser Davos was the first to speak. "Your Grace," he began, "Captain Damasco was killed, but we managed to capture most of the crew alive. We searched the entire ship, from prow to stern, including the captain's secret compartment."

"Secret compartment?" inquired the King.

"No decent shipmaster would ply his trade as a smuggler without one," explained the former smuggler-turned-knight, "as it is, I knew Captain Damasco, and I know his trade better than most. We found these..."

Melisandre watched on with great interest and curiosity as several of the King's men emerged from below decks, carrying an assortment of crates, some long and thin, others short and stout, and bearing upon them the same uniform black lettering that spelt out: "7.62mm – MADE IN WESTEROS". She could already sense what was inside them, the raw fire and power contained within those finely crafted iron and brass cylinders of death, and evidently, judging from the look on their faces, the King and his Onion Knight too recognized the importance of this cargo they had seized.

"And these fugitives did not think to employ these in the defense of their ship?" inquired Stannis.

"I've seen these devices in action at Winterfell, Your Grace," remarked Ser Davos, "deadly and accurate, but only in the hands of a trained armsman. In a novice's hand, all they achieve is to make a lot of smoke and noise and endanger those around them, friend and foe alike. Though perhaps they were hidden away as the captain sought to sell these devices for their weight in gold in the Free Cities."

"Or perhaps someone else sought to build a power base for himself," sneered the King as he turned his attention towards the prisoners who were now assembled on the deck of the ship, all of the surviving sailors, and two others who were different from the others: one was a young girl, a maid of two-and-ten, with auburn hair and quite tall for her age; the other was a lean man dressed in a nobleman's garments, a mauve silk tunic and black velvet cloak lined with fox fur.

"I know you," spat Stannis as he pointed his blade to the nobleman's throat, pressing the tip into his adam's apple with just enough force to prick it slightly and draw a single drop of blood.

"Quite," replied the prisoner, calmly, though Melisandre could sense the fear in him, the feeling of dread and defeat and pure shock at how could he have possibly been outmaneuvered. This was a man clearly not used to not having things his way. For a second, she entertained the idea of telling him, but decided against it – it was far more enjoyable to see him suffer.

"How could I not?" continued the King, "multiple charges of corruption, bribery, fraudulent financial dealings, embezzlement of Royal funds, conspiracy against the Crown, _lese majeste_, the homicide of the late Lord Jon of House Arryn, Hand Of The King, Lord Of The Vale, and Warden Of The East; the attempted homicide of Joffrey and his parents; falsification of documents and correspondences in _my_ name; aiding and abetting the rise to power of a _false claimant_ to the Throne... and what is this?" He looked at the young girl standing beside him. "The newest addition to your personal harem, no doubt. Give me one reason why I should not cut you down where you stand, _Former_-Lord Baelish."

"Please!" blurted out the young girl, "Your Lord..._Grace_! Your Grace, show mercy! He saved me from... from Joffrey's imprisonment! Oh, it was horrible! I was... I..."

Stannis, however, cut her off. "And at any point did you ever see the pretender for yourself? Or perhaps his Hound? The Queen then? Ser Ilyn Payne, the King's Justice? Anyone?"

The girl looked confused. "I... I do not believe so..."

The King turned back to face Lord Baelish. "You held and tortured a young noblewoman, and then claimed responsibility for her 'escape' as part of some elaborate mummer's farce, I am certain. I should give you to the Lord Of Light where you stand." He then looked back to the girl. "I suspect I know who you are, but I would rather hear it from you first."

The girl swallowed and spoke: "I... I am Sansa Stark... Your Grace. My... father is Lord Eddard Stark, Hand Of The King... or he _was_, before... before..."

"You are speaking to the one and true King of the Realm, young lady," cautioned Ser Davos.

"I... I know..." replied the girl, "my Lord Father was declared traitor for... supporting his claim... _your_ claim, Your Grace."

"For doing his _duty_ to the Realm," corrected the King, stone-faced as usual but with something akin to approval in his voice, "tell me, Lady Sansa, what would you have me do with him?"

There was a long pause as the girl stared at the King, unsure of what to say. Melisandre could sense that she was not enjoying having the attention of everyone else at that moment. Then, she spoke: "My... Lord Father would make him stand trial, listen to what he has to say..."

"I did not ask what would _your father_ do," retorted the King, "I asked what would _you_ do."

Sansa Stark was taken aback by this, and Melisandre could sense great confusion within her. The girl was shocked and furious at Baelish's treachery, and yet at the same time, fearful of speaking out lest she offend anyone – least of all, her upbringing, her desire to be a proper lady. "I... would live by my lord father's example," she said at last, quietly. "Baelish is a horrible, horrible man... but he must stand trial all the same... or we are no better than those who break the law... and he may have something useful to say."

Melisandre knew of course that Stannis had already made up his mind before as to just what exactly was to be done to the traitorous lordling. But for political reasons, he needed to present a fair face, especially to the beloved child of perhaps one of his most important allies in the wars to come. The Northmen were a wild bunch who worshiped trees, but if they knew how to acquire more of these "fire-arms" and "cannons" and "gunpowder", then it was imperative to win their favor. And, she admitted, she was still curious to get closer to these Sky-People, and to learn more about their endless wonders, like their fire-arms and their stainless steel, their flying falcon-ships, and of course that being of theirs, this mysterious Lady Vaenya, who was animated by a soul quite unlike anything Melisandre had ever encountered before. _And there is also this urgent matter of whether it is they who behind these changes I can feel coming over me_...

Having paid heed to Sansa's words, Stannis turned back to face his other prisoner. "It appears that you are a fortunate one, Former Lord Baelish... for now, that is. You have knowledge that will prove of great value in the wars to come, I am certain."

"And after these 'wars to come'?" inquired Baelish.

"The usefulness and reliability of your information will have some bearing on the final length and severity of your punishment," replied the King, matter-of-factly.

"Ah... well, that is very kind of you, your Grace," replied the Former Master Of Coin, trying to sound sincere, though one did not need Melisandre's gift to sense the underlying sarcasm.

Stannis, however, said nothing, and calmly slid his sword back into its sheath. Baelish breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. His right hand free, the King then turned back to face his prisoner... and promptly punched the man square in the face, as hard as he could. Baelish cried out in pain and tumbled onto the deck, clutching his broken nose, bleeding profusely. Now that was sure to leave a mark... "I would not confuse pragmatism for mercy if I were you," spoke the King, calmly, "guards, remove this man from my sight."

The young girl remained silent, but from the look in her face, she was nearly as surprised as Baelish. Melisandre took this opportunity to speak up: "your Lordship, this poor child has seen and suffered much over these last few days; perhaps I shall take charge of our guest here?" She did not say it in front of the others, but it was asking for trouble to keep a young maiden alone on a ship whose crew included all manner of hired scum from all over the Narrow Sea. Especially one who was almost a woman now, and not particularly difficult on the eyes of all those who gazed upon her, man or woman alike. The voyage back to Dragonstone would take at least another three days, winds permitting, so it made sense to keep their valued guest under the watchful eye of the only other woman on this vessel.

That, and after having sensed the anguish and trauma in the poor child's mind, Lady Melisandre reasoned that perhaps it would be far easier for this girl to confide in another woman than in any of the men – it would certainly be easier that way to win her over to their cause, to show her (and through her, her family as well) whose cause truly was the righteous one to follow in the wars to come...

Afterwards, the disgraced Master Of Coin and any surviving crewmen were shepherded into the brig and locked up. Their ship, meanwhile, was damaged in the battle, but still afloat; on the King's orders, a towline was affixed between both vessels, so that it may be taken back to Dragonstone, repaired, armed, and made the latest addition to the fleet gathering there. The fire-arms, of course, were locked away securely in the ship's armory, together with the powder stores for the cannons; they would be the subject of great study and curiosity from everyone, not least of all Melisandre herself.

For now, she contented herself to return to her cabin with her personal guest. Like the rest of the quarters aboard the King's warship, it was pretty sparse and simple. The only decoration of note were three elegantly carved oil lamps that hung down from the ceiling, shining brightly, gently swaying back and forth as the ship churned in the waves, always burning, all the time. She would have preferred a roaring hearth, but that was not an option on a wooden ship, especially not with the powder stored aboard. Her ability to bend the fire to her will had grown considerably over the last couple months, but even she would rather not have to try her hand at holding back an entire ship's magazine all at once... at least not yet anyway.

At her instruction, her guest slowly took a seat at the table, and the guards were dismissed, leaving the two of them alone. A servant, a Queen's Man and one of her acolytes, had already set the table. "There there, child," she began, smiling cordially, as she poured a glass of wine for her guest and one for herself – she usually did not partake in food and drink and other nourishments of mere mortals, but one must keep up appearances sometimes. She continued: "please do tell me about yourself, about your family. And please do tell me what you know about the Sky-People, I am quite fascinated to know more especially about the ones named Lord Frederick Kovacs and Lady Vaenya."

But Sansa Stark, still in shock over this revelation, of how it had been Baelish all along who had held her and tortured her, said nothing at first. She was a rather pretty one – a maid of two-and-ten, and yet she looked as if she were being played by an actress at least a few years older than that. With long flowing auburn hair, Melisandre noted with some minor discomfort, she looked almost like a younger version of herself, before she had found salvation in R'hllor's light. "You mustn't fear, young one," she continued, "whatever pains you have endured are behind you. You are under the Lord Of Light's protection now."

At last, Sansa Stark spoke up, softly: "I... I wanted to thank you... Your Grace... for all you have done."

_'Your Grace'? She must take me to be the Queen, though I can not fault her for this mistake_... "You are mistaken, I am but a humble servant of the Lord Of Light, and of his chosen one," she corrected her. "But your father remained loyal to his rightful king to the end; the Lord took note and sent us a vision to guide us to your aid." _It was not exactly true, not entirely, but so long as it had the desired dramatic impact_... "Baelish is a traitor and a heretic, and certainly at fault more so than any other for this war."

"So... there will be peace now?" asked Sansa, cautiously hopeful, "if this... is all Baelish's fault... and he is to face justice..."

"I am afraid that we are well beyond peace, child," she explained, trying her best to sound regretful – in truth, a war was perhaps just exactly what was needed to put this faithless and dying world to the Lord's blessed flame and help a newer, stronger world to rise from its ashes. All the same, she continued: "Baelish's crimes are irreversible; there shall be no peace as long as a pretender sits the throne and your rightful king is denied his crown."

"So... what do you plan to do with me?" asked Sansa, nervously.

_Now that is an interesting question_... "That depends on a great many things," she replied, smiling, "Your King of course shall have the final word, but I would imagine much would depend greatly on your lord father's choice as to whom his loyalties belong once we inform him of your whereabouts."

"Whatever happens... oh, please don't hurt me!" cried Sansa, "I... I'll be good, I promise!"

"There, there, do not trouble yourself too much," smiled the Red Woman as she laid a hand on the young girl's shoulder and put on the most sincere face she could manage (which, surprisingly, did not come naturally even for one accomplished in the arts of illusion). "The sins of others are not your own. Here, perhaps it may alleviate your suffering somewhat to know that your lord father and sister are alive and well, as is your... _Lady?_ Is that the name?"

Sansa was confused. "What? I... how could you... ?"

"I have seen it," she replied curtly. Sansa stared on at her; Melisandre decided to change the topic, as some things were best kept unexplained to the uninitiated. "But I would not worry about what the future may hold for now. Here, you must be hungry and tired."

* * *

_**Footnotes**:_

_Depending on your point of view, either Sansa may have gone out of the frying pan and into the fire (literally), or else this is actually a rare moment of genuine kindness on Melisandre's part. On one hand, the woman trying to console Sansa is a manipulative sorceress known to practice some weird religion including shadow magic and human sacrifices! On the other hand, it is possible that even this__ fanatic witch does empathize with her plight. Those who've read ADWD know that Melisandre was once a slave and suffered something so horrific done to her that even after becoming a powerful sorceress herself, she still suffers nightmares about it__._


	90. The Kingspost 4

**THE KINGSPOST **  
_Ye Moste Reliable And Accurate Source o' Newse in Yon Sevene Kingdomse!_  
Volume 1 – Issue 7 – Septembere 24th, 298 A.C. – 5 Copper Groats

**Traitorous Master O' Ships Attacks Innocent Civilian Vessel!  
**  
Ye traitorous Lord Stannis Baratheon, former Master Of Ships and uncle-turned-rival claimant to our beloved King Joffrey, hath launcheth a most unprovoked attack upon an unarmed tradeship in the Blackwater Bay, merely a day or so from thy capital! One thinks that ye Traitorous Lord means to attacketh our city harbor. The announcement hath been met with great concern by all thy merchants, shippers, and able-bodied seamen in thy capital. But His Grace hath remindeth all thy good citizens that thy city be safe from attack from yon sea for now, but do encourageth all thy young men of servicable age to enlist in ye City Watche. **STOP PRESS**: it hath just cometh to ye attention o' _The Kingspost_ that ye vessel in questione hath been transporting a most interesting individual. Who couldeth it be? Thou shalt turn to page 2 for ye full story!

**Lord-Commander Slynt Hath Been MURDERED! Art There Be Traitors In Our Midsts?  
**  
Ye Lord-Commander Janos Slynt hath been foundeth dead five mornings ago, his throat sliteth open, as were two o' his lieutenants. His Grace The King expresseth regrets over yon passing o' Commander Slynt, for 'twas he who so heroically puteth an end to ye coup o' ye traitorous former Lord Stark. Ye Master O' Coin Tyrion Lannister hath now been promoteth to filleth Lord-Commander Slynt's vacancy, as His Grace, in his infinite wisdom, hath decideth that matters o' war art to taketh priority o'er matters o' coin in these times, especially with ye full support o' Casterly Rock behindeth ye Crown. O' far greater concern is this notion that there mayhaps be traitors and saboteurs that hideth in our midsts! Fair citizen, thou must be ever vigilante in yon day and age! Full obituary on page 4.

**EDITORIAL: King's Landing Rifles "Greatest Army In The World"! Ye Inside Scoop  
**  
K.L. - a few days ago, I hadeth ye most honored privilege to accompany His Grace and attend a training session o' our mighty army, ye "King's Landing Rifles", as they were thusly engaged in a training exercise, and in the expedient dispatchment o' several traitors to the Crown. What hath our glorious King to speaketh 'bout our mighty army and our glorious victory in ye wars to come? Full editorial on page 3.

**LOCAL: "The Fockin' Legend Of Gin Alley" Arrested And Charged With MURDER!  
**  
K.L. - ye famed professional assassin and celebrity nameth Karl Tanner, better known amongst thy people by his honorific "The Fockin' Legend Of Gin Alley", hath been arresteth in connection with ye recent homicide of locale nobleman and prominent socialite Ser Gyles Coxlong. If he be sentenced, he mayeth be executed on ye spot, or else, faceth exile to join yon "Night's Watch" at ye Wall.

_**His Grace: I WANTETH THOU... for ye King's Landing Rifles!**__ Get paid a silver piece a day! Travel ye Sevene Kingdomse at ye Crown's expense! Meet interesting new people! Kill them! Aye, all o' this and much, much more art all in a day's work for a Rifleman. Thou should findeth thy nearest place o' recruitment today!_

_**Weather: a storm is coming...**_

**_Today's Royal Proscriptions: see page 3._**

**_Personals: Dashing Knight In Shining Armor Seeks Dishy Damsel. _**_My interests include: fighting, swordplay, jousting, arson, vandalism, oppressing the smallfolk who inhabit my manorly lands by imposing heavy taxes and prima noctis upon them, storming castles, burning villages to the ground, torturing my enemies, decapitating my opponents in a fairly graphic manner, long walks by the beach and cozy evenings by the fire. What are yours?_

* * *

"I do not think the master will be too pleased that he made the front page news," cautioned Olyvar as he read over the template that was being prepared for the next day's issue.

"What 'the master' likes or not is immaterial," retorted Lord Phineas Edgerton, "he's done, gone, finished, washed up! We might as well make a few extra Dragons from the (what's the Sky-People's word for it?) _the media buzz_ that his capture will be sure to incite around town. The shippers and the dockworkers will definitely want to be kept abreast of the latest from the Blackwater." He sat back in his chair and put his boots up on his desk. "Another arbor gold?"

"My lord," spoke Lord Edgerton's secretary, a young Volantene girl by the name Melaeny, as she entered the chamber. Through the open doors, Olyvar could see the laborers in the next room milling about the great printing press, preparing to feed fresh inks and parchments into the hungry beast. Melaeny continued: "Paetyr Parquer has just finished his report on the North's military capabilities and their march south."

"Late as usual," scowled Phineas, "how long is it?"

"Three quarters of a page... I think," replied Melaeny.

"Well, that sounds about right for someone who otherwise has absolutely no fucking head for tactics or strategy," scowled the printmaster. "Too late for tomorrow's issue, I'm afraid. The only place I can think of where we can spare the space is to cut out some of the advertising, and then I would have to reimburse some of our patrons, or else threaten them with an 'investigative piece' if they still raise a stink. No, tell him we'll save his piece for next week's issue; it's a big continent, I doubt Robb Stark will be crossing the Neck before next week."

"Paetyr wants his Silver Stags now."

"He'll be paid when his story hits the shelves, not before," fumed Lord Edgerton, "if he starts complaining about 'having bills to pay' or some pricey Essosi whore he wants to fuck up the arse for his birthday, tell him I'll give him a 10% advance this week, but I won't go any higher. And if that's still not good enough for him, well, perhaps you should remind him where he used to work before he joined our team here at _The Kingpost_." He winked and took another sip from his goblet, and then turned back to face Olyvar. "Right, where were we?"

"We were discussing Lord Baelish's capture and the repercussions thereof," reminded Olyvar.

"Right, right," said Phineas, "look, sonny: where you see a setback, I see opportunity! I don't know about Littlefinger's assets overseas, secretive bugger as he always was. But what he has left down here in KL is still pretty substantial, and once the King issues his royal pardon, some of his confiscated holdings will be freed up. I say we split it all 50-50 and call it done – you can have the 'fine and reputable establishments', you seem quite good at running those (no offense), and I'll take everything else."

"And what if I don't want to run just the 'fine and reputable establishments'?"

"Oh don't worry, we can work out the _minutiae_ later."

"And if the master ever returns, what then?" asked Olyvar, cautiously.

"_If_," smiled the printmaster, taking a sip from his goblet and casually twirling his mustache, "though clearly, you've never met Stannis before."


	91. Jorah 1

_**Foreword**: a few chapters back, I mentioned that there was originally going to be a **Jorah 1** chapter immediately following the Vaes Dothrak action, which would have featured an extended motorcycle chase through the desert. That was cut out due to a mix of time constraints (real life and stuff), pointlessness (it added nothing new to the story), and sheer nonsense (horses cannot keep up to a motorcycle). The good news is that Jorah finally gets the POV I've been owing him! We also return to an important location not seen for a while..._

* * *

**Jorah (I)  
**  
For the first time in a long time, Ser Jorah Mormont felt oddly at peace.

It was true that he was back in a land where he had once been a condemned man, and surrounded by a strange people who wielded powers and wonders beyond his wildest imagination and shook his view of this world down to its very foundation. And it was certainly true that his introduction to these people had not exactly been one he would remember fondly years from now (it took a lot to induce genuine fear and terror in Jorah The Andal, and that... _ride_ on that deplorable horseless device called a "motorcycle"... aye, that had done it. At least the fool and madman that was Lord Frederick Of House Kovacs seemed a capable "motorcyclist").

But in spite of it all, the last few days had been peaceful and quiet, and for the first time, the future looked promising. Lord Kovacs had assured him that thanks to an arrangement made with Ned Stark's son Robb, no longer was he to be banished from the Realm. Ser Jorah wondered to himself if there was any point in returning to Bear Island and try to claim his place as lord of House Mormont. Or perhaps it just better to let bygones be bygones, and instead build a new future for himself by taking up Lord Kovacs' offer of a position here at their colony.

It had been just over ten days now since they were first brought to Autumn's Frontier, not too far from Winterfell itself. The sight and sound and smell of it all had shocked Ser Jorah to no end at first, let alone the fact that, so he was told, all of this had arisen in only the last five months. Between the "motorcycle", those other, larger horseless carriages, the falcon-ship, the flameless lanterns, the moving pictures, the little foundry that produced far more steel in a week than all the rest of the Seven Kingdoms in a year combined, the great quarry that in only five months had grown large enough to swallow Winterfell whole...

And perhaps stranger still were the people behind it all. The Sky-People looked, for the most part, exactly the same as the Westerosi, save for a handful who resembled the olive-skinned Rhoynar of Dorne, the ebony-skinned Summer Islanders, or even those elusive and far-off Yi-Tians (whom he had actually seen quite a few of during his years as a sellsword in Essos). And the Sky-People all spoke the Common Tongue, some of them even in accents that he would have easily have mistaken for originating in one of the Seven Kingdoms.

But the similarities seemed to end there, for there was something truly foreign to Ser Jorah about these people, and it was not just the way they dressed, but something far deeper than that... in the way they behaved and acted, in the way they seemed to view the world. He did not approve of all he saw, but all the same, an industrious people capable of the accomplishments and wonders he had seen warranted great respect... and perhaps some modicum of apprehension as well with regard to their long term ambitions...

And, he had to admit, he was also curious as to what the spymaster down in the capital made of all of this. By now, Varys surely knew about the Sky-People, and surely had something to say about them. But Jorah wondered how would he ever be able to contact him, or even if he wanted to – after all these years, he was back in his native Westeros, and Lord Kovacs had promised him a new life here, and he was genuinely curious to see what opportunities these foreigners had to offer.

For the first few days, Jorah and Irri, the only other person brought from Vaes Dothrak, had been accommodated at the main town of the Sky-People, while Khaleesi herself had been kept at their hospital. The marvels of these foreigners extended to their medicine as well, and Daenerys was discharged from their care only five days later, with the assurances that her unborn child too would survive. From there, they had been sent to a new home several miles from the main town, at a small village out in the middle of the forests that the foreigners had named "Outpost B" - only a few buildings, and a couple dozen other people who lived here, mainly workers assigned to some "research project" that the foreigners were running out here amongst these quiet woods.

Their accommodation was inside one of the steel box-houses; they were told it was a modest one by the foreigners' standards, but it was actually quite comfortable: clean beds with fresh linens changed every day... some of those flameless lanterns, those "LED lights"... a bath chamber complete with hot running water... their host had even provided them with books and a device that could produce moving pictures and accompanying music of their choosing.

The relative peace and comfort of their current position, however, did not hide the fact that Daenerys Targaryen had endured a great personal loss – her husband, her brother, her entire Khalassar... but she seemed to take it with some courage and grace. Jorah suspected that this was owed to a mix of sheer shock and bewilderment at the Sky-People and their ways (and perhaps fear of the great power at their command)... not to mention her natural curiosity for her own native Westeros, a land completely alien to her, despite how vigorously her own late brother had lain claim its Crown. And on top of that, she still carried a part of her Drogo within her...

"Where are we, Ser Jorah?" asked Daenerys, looking around her innocently, as she and Irri followed him down the tunnel and into the great underground chamber. The last few days had truly opened her eyes to a new world, and she seemed to soak up every new piece of knowledge like a sponge, holding everything in wonder and curiosity.

"This place, Khaleesi, is something I have only ever heard about in the old tales," he replied as he too looked around, taking time to inspect some of the runes and murals carved or painted across the walls. They were deep underground, yet the chamber was brightly lit up thanks to several of those so-called "LED lights" the Sky-People had set up here and there. He continued: "this must be a place of worship built by the First Men thousands of years ago. In my time, I have seen quite a few of the monuments they left behind them, but this is one of the most remarkable I have ever seen... well, after the Wall itself, that is."

"The First Men... your people?" asked Dany, inquisitively.

"Aye, Khaleesi," replied Ser Jorah, "we of the North still carry the blood of the First Men in our veins, and honor the Old Gods. Some amongst us even still speak the Old Tongue. 'Twas all bethanks to King Theon Stark, The Hungry Wolf, who stopped the Andal Invasion in its tracks when he slew Argos Sevenstar at the Battle Of Weeping Water. Ever since that day, for thousands of years, The Neck has proudly stood as our people's bastion against the south... well, at least until King Torrhen bent the knee before your illustrious ancestor, Aegon The Conqueror, rather than face the wrath of his dragons. But the rest of the Seven Kingdoms are all a mix of Andal and First Men. Only Dorne is bereft of the First Men culture; they are of Rhoynish stock, who came across the Narrow Sea 'bout a thousand years ago, on ten thousand ships led by Queen Nymeria."

"After they fled Old Valyria... my people," mused Dany as she remembered some of the numerous old tales and proud histories and praises to her family and their Valyrian bloodline that she had been told over the years. "Tell me, Ser Jorah: back in Vaes Dothrak, they used to call you 'Jorah The Andal', yet you say the Northmen are all of First Men stock. Why is that?"

"Khaleesi, amongst the Dothraki and others in Essos, 'Andal' has become the general term for anyone from Westeros," he explained, "not surprising, given how thoroughly the Andal culture dominates the rest of the Realm – the Faith Of The Seven, the Common Tongue, and so forth. Even the Rhoynar of Dorne follow the Seven – save for a handful who live along the Greenblood, who still follow the cult of Mother Rhoyne to this day. But here and there, one can still find traces of the First Men, be it in the godswood that one will find in many a castle and keep throughout the Realm, or in the great monuments they raised that stand to this day, like The Wall..." _Where my lord father currently stands watch_, he thought to himself. _One of these days, I must go and see my father, to tell him everything. It's been years_...

Daenerys and Irri were greatly impressed by the size and layout of the main atrium, but they were curious too to see one of the smaller chambers that branched out from this central hall. And so Ser Jorah led them in through the first doorway on the left...

There were already four other men standing in the room – two of the foreigners themselves, and two of the local sellswords they had under their employ, whom they called "White Wolves". One of them Ser Jorah recognized to be Ned Stark's bastard himself, Jon Snow, who stood guard at the doorway, brandishing one of those "fire-arms" that Jorah had heard of and seen in the moving pictures. The Sky-People certainly took all matters of their personal security seriously, especially after a recent battle that had apparently occurred there in that very spot, so he was told, _against the Others themselves_.

"Oh hey there," spoke up one of the two foreigners working there, as he turned to face them. "Can I help you?"

"We didn't mean to disturb you," said Daenerys, apologetically.

"No probs," smiled the man as he held out his hand, "Doctor Sean Duff, Department of Xeno-Anthropological Studies. Pleasure to meet you... uh, _your Majesty_." Whatever else they may have been, Ser Jorah noticed, the Sky-People were nothing if not always polite around Khaleesi.

The second foreigner, the more short and stout of the two, spoke up: "Albert Digby, at your service. Never mind me, I'm just a blue-collar bloke 'round 'ere, doin' all the 'eavy liftin'."

"Ser Digby?" asked Daenerys, "Are you the one they call... 'The Iron Mountain'? Is it true that you killed... a White Walker all by your lonesome?"

"You are one who wears _big armor_, yes?" asked Irri, chiming in.

"Haha, that's one way to put it!" laughed Ser Digby, beaming with pride that he had already built up a local reputation for himself and that great iron monster he sometimes wore around him like a suit of knightly plate, that so-called "Hulk unit".

"Uh... yeah," sighed Ser Duff, "the loss of Specimens WW01, 02, 03, and 04 was a regrettable one, but necessary, given what I've seen on the other worlds. We couldn't risk the same here."

Daenerys frowned. "Uh... _other worlds?_" she asked quietly.

Ser Digby ignored her, and continued: "I've got a video rec... uh, a _moving picture_ of the whole thing, if you're interested."

"Lady Vaenya killed another one right 'ere in this very room," piped up the other guardsman in the room, the one named Grenn.

"Aye," agreed Ser Snow, "you can still see the scorch marks."

"It must have been quite the battle... Lady Vaenya is quite the warrior," remarked Daenerys. She was still shaken deeply from the horrific fate that had befallen her Sun And Stars, but Ser Jorah could see that she had also grown some level of respect and silent admiration for this mysterious warrior woman of the Sky-People.

"Oh it was!" said Grenn. "I didn't actually see it – we were all topside fighting the other 'Walkers when it happened – but we heard all 'bout it! Lord Kovacs lay injured on the ground, bleeding to death; the Snow Queen (that's what we call her anyways) was about to finish him off, and then boom! In comes Lady Vaenya like one of the heroes of the old tales, and then she... she used a... a _device_ of some kind that creates... well, something called _plasma_. I don't know what it is exactly, only that it burns hotter than the sun itself, and the miners use it to cut through rock."

"Plasma," repeated Jorah quietly, "is it like Wildfire?"

"Much, much hotter than that!" laughed Albert Digby, chiming in, "it's the stuff your sun and the stars themselves are made of!"

_'Your sun'?,_ thought Ser Jorah, _these people speak as though they have traveled among the stars themselves._ He looked around him. Sure enough, one could faintly make out the place on the walls where the very solid rock itself had boiled and cracked slightly from a great heat, and it seemed vaguely to take the shape of a silhouette of some lithe and elegant figure... Jorah could feel a slight shiver down his spine at the mere thought that here, in this room, stood the very stuff of his childhood nightmares. He prayed to whatever Gods still existed that the Sky-People knew where to obtain more of this 'plasma'.

"Are there more of these White Walkers out there?" asked Daenerys, worriedly, "perhaps beyond the Wall?"

"That is a very good question," replied Ser Duff, "our satellites and our drones... uh, our _flying, spying machines_, that is... have seen some rather interesting things up there, but we can't know for sure until we land an expedition on the ground up there. And for that, we're waiting until we can spare the resources and manpower for that – probably once the _UNSV Joseph Conrad_ arrives. As it is, right now, most of our efforts are focused south, on this war that's broken out. I can't say anymore on that front, sorry."

_The Joseph Conrad?,_ wondered Ser Jorah to himself, _is that the name of another ship bringing more of the Sky-People to our shores? And what are these "flying spying machines" that Ser Duff speaks of?_

"SIR!" came a voice echoing down the entrance tunnel, interrupting the group. Seconds later, another one of the White Wolf sellswords entered the chamber, running, and came to a halt.

"What is it, private?" barked Sergeant Snow.

"Sir!" repeated the new arrival, evidently one of the new recruits, as he saluted his superior, "news from headquarters. Your father... uh, ahem, _Lord Eddard Stark_... he's coming here, sir! Ser Hawthorne ordered me to inform you that he wanted to see you personally about something important... sir."

"Thank you, Private Alan," replied Ser Snow, "and when is Lord Stark coming?"

"Sir! Some time in the next hour," replied Alan, "I've been instructed to take over your post whilst you receive him, sir!"

"Very well then," replied Ser Snow, "I'll report top-side then. Grenn, you have the watch."

Jorah could see that Daenerys looked worried, clutching at her womb like a mother holding her child closer to her. And who could blame her? It had been explained to her that Lord Stark no longer served the Usurper, and of the conflict that now existed between him and the Usurper's heir. But still, when one spends her entire life on the run and in constant fear from King Robert's assassins, and knowing full well of the legendary friendship between him and Ned Stark that had conspired to end nearly three centuries of Targaryen rule... and knowing full well too that it had been her brother's act in seizing the beloved sister of Ned Stark that had started it all... well, it was perfectly understandable why Khaleesi would harbor some concerns over the prospects of finally meeting this man face to face. To be fair, Jorah admitted that he too was worried as to what exactly Lord Stark would have to say to him, but he did his very best not to show it.

"Whatever the Usurper's _former_ righthand may be coming here for," he began, "his eldest son and heir swore his honor to protect you and I."

"And can I trust the word of this Stark, this... _Robb?_" asked Daenerys.

"Khaleesi, words may be wind to most people, but not to the Starks of Winterfell," spoke Ser Jorah reassuringly. But she had raised a valid point. And beside that, whatever it was that Ned Stark himself was coming here for, instead of heading south to lead his armies to war against the Usurper's heir, it must have been very important.


	92. Battle Report 4: Battle of Golden Tooth

**FOR YOUR EYES ONLY**  
**Status:** CLASSIFIED Level 5  
**By: **[REDACTED]**  
Filed on**: [REDACTED]

* * *

**AFTER ACTION REPORT:**  
**The Battle Of The Golden Tooth**

**1\. Date:** Day 172 After Arrival (Oct 09, 298 A.C. in local calendar)  
**2\. Location:** Pass of the Golden Tooth, border between the Westerlands Territory and the Riverlands Territory, Western Continent (aka "Westeros"), Planet EE-L4  
**3\. Participants:  
**+Kingdom of the Westerlands (House Lannister + allies)  
+Kingdom of the Riverlands (House Tully + allies)  
**4\. Outcome:** major Westerlands victory; Riverlands army routed, top Riverlands leaders KIA.

**5\. Order Of Battle:  
**

**The Westerlands: 40,000 total**  
+9,000 cavalry  
+31,000 infantry  
**_Commanders_:**  
+Lord Tywin Lannister  
+Sir Kevan Lannister  
+Sir Jaime Lannister  
+Sir Addam Marbrand  
+Sir Gregor Clegane  
+Lord Gawen Westerling  
+Lord Leo Lefford  
+Lord Andros Brax  
+Sir Forley Prester  
+Lord Roland Crakehall  
+Vargo Hoat

**The Riverlands: 12,000 total**  
+3,000 cavalry  
+9,000 infantry  
**_Commanders:  
_**+Lord Edmure Tully  
+Lord Karyl Vance The Elder  
+Sir Karyl Vance The Younger  
+Lord Clement Piper  
+Sir Marq Piper  
+Sir Rayman Darry  
+Lord Tytos Blackwood

**6\. Prelude  
**

For at least the last couple months, tensions had been brewing along the border between the Kingdoms of the Westerlands and the Riverlands. Lord Tywin Lannister, sovereign head of the former, had begun raising an army in preparation for a war against the Kingdom Of The North. Our analysts tend to peg Tywin's grievances to a single poisoning attempt allegedly made on (then) Crown Prince Joffrey by Lord Eddard Stark, though the fact that hostilities continued even after the actual culprit was revealed to be the (now) former Lord Petyr Baelish shows that the political realities of this conflict are far more complex.

I personally speculate that the actual underlying cause was the threat to the established order that the Westerlands perceived within a newly industrializing and increasingly nationalistic and independent North. In a backward and rigidly conservative society such as that of the Westerosi, it is easy for one to perceive all change as fundamentally bad, especially if said change is not under one's control. Singular events such as the Lannisters' attempt to assassinate Lord Stark's son Brandon, Sir Jaime Lannister's attack on Lord Stark, and Lord Stark's eventual attempted coup against King Joffrey, were all merely parts of a larger socio-political narrative.

Whatever the case, the Riverlands were an unfortunate bystander caught in this political crossfire, especially as they are quite literally located geographically right between the two feuding states. Either side would have to secure passage through this territory in order to attack the other, and as circumstances would have it, the current reigning House Tully of Riverrun are firmly on the side of the Starks. This alliance goes at least as far back as the historical event known as "Robert's Rebellion" (please see our separate report on this event), wherein the Stark and Tully factions were part of the rebel alliance that ultimately deposed King Aerys II Targaryen, and culminated in the marriage of Lord Eddard Stark to Lady Catelyn Tully.

Thus, when news of the Lannisters' militarization had reached the Riverlands capital at Riverrun, it was natural for Lord Hoster Tully to treat the Lannisters' intentions with suspicion, and begin marshaling his armed forces at once. The two Riverlands noble houses located closest to the border were Houses Vance and Piper, and so they were instructed to begin raising troops and fortifying the pass that marks the border immediately. Meanwhile, Lord Hoster's son and heir Sir Edmure Tully began raising a second army at Riverrun. By the time Sir Edmure made the decision to march out to the Golden Tooth, this army numbered roughly 6,000 troops, with another 6,000 in the process of being assembled and trained.

Furthermore, Lord Karyl Vance The Elder sent his son, Sir Karyl Vance The Younger, to the capital to request assistance from the reigning monarch himself. King Robert I was absent at that moment (and was later revealed to have died in a hunting accident; see our report on the "King's Landing Coup"), but Lord Eddard Stark, presiding over the Royal Court in the King's absence, promised to summon Lord Tywin to the capital in person in order to explain himself before the King, or else be legally branded a traitor. As fate would have it, these actions of Lord Stark were rendered nullified following the King's Landing Coup (see _idem_.), by the ascension of King Joffrey I to the monarchy.

With pro-Lannister forces in control of the monarchy and the promise of reinforcements, including the King's Landing Rifles, as well as the formal _casus belli_ established by former Lord Stark's attempt to seize power in a coup, Lord Tywin Lannister was henceforth dealt a free hand by the monarchy to, quote, "employ any means deemed necessary to ensure the loyalty of [your] fellow subjects to His Grace, King Joffrey" - basically, to do as he pleased. It was thus that the Army of the Westerlands departed the Lannister stronghold at Casterly Rock on Day 155, and arrived at Golden Tooth after a 15-day march along the road between Casterly Rock and Riverrun.

**7\. Course of Battle:  
**

Lords Vance and Piper had already raised an army of 6,000 on their own and had begun work on erecting preliminary field fortifications prior to Edmure's arrival with the Riverrun forces. The arrival of 6,000 reinforcements from Riverrun doubled the size of this defense force and was initially hailed by the defenders as an enormous boost to morale... only for these sentiments to be brutally dashed once it later became apparent that the Lannisters were en route with a force almost four times their size.

Sir Edmure Tully was generally not reputed for his generalship capabilities, but even he recognized the folly of charging a force of 12k men head-on against a larger force of 40k men, especially one under a veteran commander like Tywin Lannister, and especially where it is the smaller army that is occupying the more defensible position. Further mitigating Sir Tully's shortcomings as a leader was the counsel provided by some of his more able subordinates, including Lord Tytos Blackwood.

As a result, Tywin's army arrived on the evening of Day 170 to find a smaller but well entrenched army of 12,000 combatants awaiting them behind a series of crude but effective field fortifications that gave even the larger army some pause. For the next two days, the Lannisters sent a number of diplomatic missions to the Tully lines under the banner of parley, to which Ser Edmure, as the legal heir to the Lordship of the Riverlands and acting lord on behalf of his sickly father, bravely (and some would say foolishly) continued to defiantly reject Lord Tywin's requests for unhindered passage through the Riverlands. We speculate that these numerous attempts at diplomacy may have actually have been attempts by the Lannisters to gather intelligence on the Tully forces' strengths and weaknesses.

Finally, Tywin requested permission to send a small diplomatic party of 12 riders directly to Riverrun itself, to treat with Lord Hoster Tully directly. This seemed a reasonable enough request to Sir Edmure that he allowed the party to pass through their lines. Bear in mind too that by this point, the intimidation that naturally arises from being effectively besieged by an army four times the size may have also have played a role in Sir Edmure's retrospectively questionable decision.

As the Lannister's diplomatic party wound its way through the Tully lines, they were suddenly and viciously attacked by parties unknown, though claimed to have been seen wearing the colors of House Tully. It was later revealed that this was in fact a false flag operation masterminded by Tywin himself in order to establish a legitimate _casus belli _against House Tully (and his way of punishing Ser Edmure's persistence and impudence in daring to defy his earlier attempts at diplomacy). In this case, a mercenary company known locally as "the Brave Companions" had been ordered to don clothing similar to those worn by the Riverlands forces, infiltrate the Tully lines, carry out this false flag operation, and once that was done, turn on the rest of the Tully forces and sow general confusion and chaos among the defenders.

No sooner had the attack been carried out then Tywin immediately gave the order to begin the assault. The Lannister forces converged on the Tully positions and swarmed their lines, catching the defenders by surprise and pulling down some of their field fortifications to open up paths for the Lannisters' vastly superior cavalry forces to charge through. The battle quickly turned into a confused rout, and while some sections of the Tully lines put up a brave and stubborn defense, their efforts were ultimately in vain against the oncoming surge of Lannister troops.

At one point, with the defenses fallen, Sir Edmure Tully, in his final act of gallant but foolhardy decision-making, rallied what was left of the Tully cavalry and made a last ditch straight shot aimed directly at Lord Tywin Lannister. This charge was met head on by Sir Jaime Lannister and a force of 3,000 cavalry, and destroyed, and Sir Edmure himself was killed (though we cannot confirm whether this was deliberate, or a complete accident).

In spite of the general mayhem and slaughter that ensued, the field fortifications prepared earlier held up well enough that Lord Tytos Blackwood, and Sirs Karyl Vance, Marq Piper, and Rayman Darry were all able to escape with about 4,000 men, although most of these survivors scattered after the battle, and only a quarter or so made it back to Riverrun. We presume that Sirs Vance and Piper both inherited the title "Lord" immediately upon their fathers' demise.

**8\. Casualties:**

**_Westerlands:  
_**+Approx. 1,000 KIA or WIA (mostly infantry)  
**_Riverlands:  
_**+Approx. 8,000 KIA, WIA, or captured  
+Ser Edmure Tully KIA  
+Lord Karyl Vance The Elder KIA  
+Lord Clement Piper KIA

**9\. Aftermath:  
**

Excluding the King's Landing Coup D'État, this is the first proper field engagement of the Westeros Civil War*, and it has given us much to analyze. It will be interesting to see what long-term political, economic, and social results arise from this battle and others like it that are sure to follow.

_***NOTE**: the "Westeros Civil War" is the provisional name for this conflict, although our mission's resident anthropologist Dr. S. Duff has suggested that we should perhaps attempt to find a more "epic and poetic" name that will sound more interesting in the inevitable history books that will be written about this event, as well as any big budget HBO holovision series, comic books, video games, action-figures, Lego sets, bobbleheads, tabletop holo-wargames, cosplay costumes, or other potential merchandise we could make off of this conflict. Chief Eng. K. Trevino has jokingly suggested "War Of Four Kings And One Queen", although we are as yet unsure as to whether we should unofficially endorse Monarch D. Targaryen's possible claim to the Crown**.  
****NOTE**: I mean, don't get me wrong, I think she's pretty cute too, and we could get some fantastic modeling deals and product endorsements from her. It's just that we would need to convince the UN that she is a more suitable candidate for the monarchy than, say, her nephew Jon, or this Lord S. Baratheon fellow, especially now that we know the latter has Lord Stark's elder daughter in his "custody" (don't even get me started on how we're going to figure that one out). We figured best strategy is to just sit back and wait for now and see how things play out before we start committing to one side or another.  
_  
For starters, we speculate that in lieu of any other sons, the heirship to the Kingdom Of The Riverlands will pass to Lord Hoster Tully's younger brother, Sir Brynden Tully, who is currently at Riverrun marshaling a second army that was to reinforce Edmure's army. Ser Brynden has no children, however, and so were he to perish in battle, it would open up the possibility that the heirship to Riverrun may actually pass to Lord Eddard Stark, via his marriage to Lady Catelyn Tully. The political implications of the emergence of a "Dual Kingdom Of The North And Riverlands" may yield new opportunities for our colonies here on Planet EE-L4.

That is, of course, assuming that there is still a Riverlands existent by the end of this conflict. This battle demonstrates that even without firearms, a Lannister army on the move and under the command of an utterly ruthless and relentless tactician like Tywin Lannister can be a formidable opponent (well, to a pre-industrial civilization in any case – in our case, just one of our Falcon gunships alone, equipped with a pulse-laser and standard payload of guided missiles and simple kinetic impactors, would suffice to reduce a not-insignificant fraction of this grand warhost down to a mix of ashes and molten slag).

Once the rifle- and artillery-equipped forces we have been secretly raising for the Lannisters in King's Landing rendezvous with Lord Tywin's main army, well, it should make for a rather interesting showdown against Robb Stark's smaller but better equipped and better trained army. We have run the simulations over this inevitable confrontation using the latest data available, but at this point, we must remember that small and unforeseen events may still transpire to produce vastly unpredictable results. I suggest we best wait until closer to the time, when our models will be far more accurate, before we determine which side to hedge our bets on.

That said, we are, of course, open to a fair deal to supply whatever the UNASEC Code considers to be "non-directly intervening" to any side that is most willing to, ahem, "accommodate our needs" in the immediate future.

**_This report was prepared by [NAMES REDACTED] on [DATE REDACTED]. All information and opinions expressed are accurate to the fullest extent of all individuals' knowledge. As a preliminary draft, the information in this document is HIGHLY CLASSIFIED and FOR INTERNAL USE ONLY. Any information contained within this document must be approved by our Censorship Board before being made public._**

* * *

**_Footnotes:_**

_1\. The war has begun! To quote Shakespeare: "__cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!__"_

_2\. As you can see, there are several very important differences from the original timeline (OTL), including factors such as timing, strategies, as well as the motivations for the war. The rest of these footnotes are dedicated to examining these differences in depth._

_3\. In OTL (going by the books, though remember that this story combines book and TV canon): Tywin's goal was to punish the Riverlands, so he split his army into three – one army of 20k under Tywin himself, one army of 15k under Jaime, and a small raiding force under Gregor Clegane (thus giving him a total of about 35k troops). Vance and Piper raised a host of 4k to defend the Golden Tooth, and Edmure assembled 10k at Riverrun, giving the Riverlands a total force of 14k troops, with the rest of the Riverlands houses tied up protecting their lands from Clegane's raiders._

_4\. In this story, Tywin's motivation and strategy (with the North as his main target and the Riverlands an unfortunate bystander caught in the crossfire) leads him to mass his army into a single block of 40k troops. He raises more men than in OTL due to having more time to mobilize. However, the Riverlands too are able to marshal more troops, although judging from this battle, they didn't really do that much better at all._

_5\. While Tywin would prioritize the capturing of nobility alive in order to have hostages, remember that accidents *do* happen, and Edmure Tully was a rather accident-prone individual. Remember that this was the man who was busy bedding his new wife at the OTL Red Wedding while his sister, nephew, and all his friends were being brutally murdered next door. On the other hand though, Edmure does hold the honor of being the only one to personally defeat Lord Tywin Lannister in a battle in OTL._


	93. Timeline 6

**TIMELINE 6: The War Begins**

**Roughly around Day120  
Riverrun, Riverlands  
**+Alarmed by the sudden mobilization of the Westerlands, Lord Hoster Tully starts calling his banners, and also dispatches Ser Karyl Vance to King's Landing to petition the King to put an end to this madness.

**Day130: Aug28  
Autumn's Frontier, The North  
**+Some of the local laborers at the colony start nicknaming Albert Digby "The Iron Mountain", after the HULK Unit he was operating during the Battle Of Outpost B.

**Day140: Sept07  
Autumn's Frontier  
**+Fred, VENI, Daniel, Kelsey Trevino, Niall Donnelly, and Kelly Adams finalize plans for the next phase of expansion of the colony, including setting aside planned residential areas for some of the colonists arriving on the _UNSV Joseph Conrad_, preliminary plans for the development of five new colonies down in the Westerlands, and the designation of Outpost B and surrounding areas as an official "Thaumic Energy Research Area".

**Day146: Sept13  
King's Landing, Crownlands  
**+Ser Karyl Vance is granted audience by the royal court and voices his concerns over the Westerlands' bellicosity. Lord Stark issues a summons to Lord Tywin Lannister, although this action is later rendered nullified.  
+**The King's Landing Coup**. Ser Karyl Vance escapes the capital amidst the chaos and rides for Riverrun.  
+An unknown traitor within Baelish's network of spies and agents informs Dragonstone as to what the former master-of-coin is up to.

**Day148: Sept15  
Autumn's Frontier  
**+Dr. Sean Duff arrives after being transferred in from the EE-L0 colony, and sets up shop over at Outpost B to study the archaeological remains there of the First Men civilization.

**Day150: Sept17  
Vaes Dothrak, The Dothraki Sea, Eastern Continent (aka "Essos")  
**+**The Jhaqo Mutiny**; Fred and VENI "acquire an asset" in spite of complications that arise during a succession crisis amongst the Dothraki owing to VENI's very public delegitimization of Khal Drogo.  
**Winterfell, The North  
**+Robb Stark is angered when a raven arrives from King Joffrey, proclaiming his father a traitor and demanding that he come to the capital to kneel before the new king. Robb begins marshaling his forces, but also radios Daniel, requesting his help in rescuing his father. Daniel is open to the idea, and arranges a meeting with him for the next day.  
**Autumn's Frontier  
**+Fred and VENI return from the Eastern Continent with "the Assets" in tow; Daenerys Tagaryen is checked into the colony's hospital for treatment, while three thaumically active artifacts identified as the embryonic forms of _Draco westerosensis_, are put into storage over at Outpost B, where most of the thaumic energy research on Planet EE-L4 is being conducted.  
+While Daenerys Targaryen is undergoing treatment, a sample of her blood is taken and kept on record at the colony's medical database; by comparing this sample with that of one of their employees, VENI concludes that this employee (who shall remain nameless) may in fact be Daenerys' nephew.  
**Riverrun, Riverlands  
**+With the news that King Robert is dead, King Joffrey is in power and Ned Stark stands charged with treason, House Tully has the grim realization that the Crown will not intervene on their behalf. Ser Edmure Tully valiantly proclaims that they will not give up without a fight, and leads all of the assembled Riverlands banners gathered so far, some 6,000 men, out to reinforce the Golden Tooth.

**Day151: Sept18  
Autumn's Frontier  
**+Robb Stark travels to the colony for an emergency meeting with The Company's representatives. Joining him is his (alleged) half-brother, Sgt. Jon Snow, to appeal for the life of their beloved father, Lord Eddard Stark. Although Fred and Daniel reiterate their commitment to "non-direct intervention in native affairs", they are nonetheless willing to make an exception for Robb... on the condition of course that he accept some new terms of theirs.  
**King's Landing  
**+Issue 6 of _The Kingspost_ comes out just 3 days after Issue 5, to capitalize on the recent political turmoil in the capital, and to accept commissions from the Crown to publish the Royal Proscriptions.  
+_Night_: Lord-Commander Janos Slynt and two of his lieutenants are murdered by parties unknown, and 50 rifles and 10 boxes of ammunition are stolen from the Royal Armory.

**Day152: Sept19  
Winterfell  
**+The First Army Of The North departs, marching south, under the command of Lord-General Robb Stark, numbering some 19,000 troops in total (including 4,000 cavalry, 2,500 riflemen, and 70 field guns plus crews), organized into four divisions and two artillery brigades.  
**King's Landing  
**+Lord-Commander Janos Slynt found murdered; King Joffrey is pissed off.  
+Certain elements within the King's Landing political scene petition King Joffrey to have Tyrion Lannister "promoted" to interim commander of the KLR. Tyrion is given the new title "Colonel".  
+Joffrey has a couple dozen political dissidents executed by being used as target practice for the KLR.

**Day153: Sept20  
King's Landing  
**+Fred arrives in King's Landing, ostensibly, in the name of conducting further diplomacy and conferring his formal respects to the newly ascended King Joffrey I Baratheon. Fred also breaks the news of Robb's march to Queen Cersei (as he prefers to deal with the queen on the really important matters and deal only with the king as a formality). Queen Cersei reveals this to Joffrey, who in turn drags his mother and his noble guest out onto the training grounds to give them a fine demonstration of "the might of the King's Landing Rifles"... in spite of the fact that most of the new recruits have been in training for only about a month or so. Fred is quick to point this out to Joffrey, but his warning falls on deaf ears as the King remains adamant that the KLR must march out to join his grandfather Lord Tywin's host that will attack the North and put an end to the traitorous Starks once and for all!  
+VENI is hot on the trail of Ned and Arya Stark.  
+Petyr Baelish, learning that Fred and VENI are in the capital, decides to advance his planned departure of the city ahead of schedule, so that he may leave before they find him.

**Day154: Sept21  
King's Landing  
**+_Dawn_: a force consisting of about 2,000 green riflemen, 500 horsemen, 50 officers, 60 cannons, and 300 artillerymen, departs under the command of Colonel Tyrion Lannister. Their mission is to march north for the Trident, gathering additional reinforcements as they go along from various Crownlands houses loyal to Joffrey, and then dig in at the Ruby Ford and await the arrival of Lord Tywin Lannister's main host.  
+_Night_: Sansa Stark is "rescued" from her imprisonment by Littlefinger's men.  
**Kingswood, Crownlands  
**+Ned and Arya Stark are found and rescued by VENI and Fred. The former have been on the run from King's Landing for the last ten days since the coup, and are found accompanied by Vayon and Jeyne Poole, along with the direwolf Lady and a Braavosi chap named Syrio Forel. However, Sansa Stark is nowhere to be found.  
**Winterfell  
**+Ned and co are flown back to Winterfell amidst a tearful and emotional reunion with Lady Catelyn and Rickon. While it feels good for Ned that he is back in Winterfell, the family is far from together again: Robb has just departed days earlier for the south with his army, Brandon is still recovering off-world (so they're told), and Sansa is still missing. Ned is surprised (and shocked too) by some of the changes that Robb has made around Winterfell and Winter Town in his absence. He decides to join his son on the march south, but first decides to spend a few days in Winterfell, recovering from his time in the south, as well as conducting important matters of civil administration and diplomacy in preparation for the war ahead.

**Day155: Sept22  
Casterly Rock, Westerlands  
**+The Grand Army Of The Westerlands departs, numbering some 31,000 infantry and 9,000 cavalry. This great war host is commanded by Lord Tywin Lannister himself, together with his son Ser Jaime Lannister and brother Ser Kevan Lannister, as well as many other notable movers and shakers of the Westerlands, like Ser Addam Marbrand, Ser Gregor Clegane, Lord Andros Brax, and Ser Lyle Crakehall, as well as a band of Essosi sellswords under Vargo Hoat.  
**King's Landing  
**+_Dawn_: a small, fast, Braavosi trade ship, operated by famed smuggler Captain Damasco and chartered by Lord Petyr Baelish, departs the harbor for parts unknown.  
**Blackwater Bay, The Narrow Sea  
**+_Midday_: Baelish's ship is intercepted by one of Dragonstone's warships, personally commanded by Lord (now King) Stannis Baratheon, who was eager to test out two of his latest acquisitions: a pair of 18 pounders that Ser Davos Seaworth was able to purchase under the table from a contact in White Harbor. A fierce but ultimately one-sided sea battle breaks out as the Braavosi smugglers are overwhelmed by the royal warship. Captain Damasco is killed in the fighting. Petyr Baelish and Sansa Stark are captured and brought into King Stannis' custody, as are a load of smuggled goods that Damasco was transporting for Baelish. Stannis gets some new toys, Melisandre gets a new, uh, friend, Baelish gets a broken nose, Sansa gets some tea and lemon cakes. Everyone is happy!  
+_Evening_: King Stannis sends a raven to Dragonstone, instructing that another raven be sent to Winterfell explaining the situation and offering terms to House Stark of Winterfell.

**Day156: Sept23  
Autumn's Frontier  
**+Daenerys Targaryen is released from hospital; she, together with Ser Jorah Mormont and her handmaiden Irri, are taken to Outpost B where they will remain as The Company's "guests" until they figure out what to do with them. They comply partly out of fear and partly out of fascination for "the Sky-People and their sorceries".  
**King's Landing  
**+Former Baelish underlings Olyvar and Lord Phineas Edgerton divvy up the remnants of Baelish's criminal empire between them and discuss what to do now that Baelish is in Stannis' custody (and thus with no conceivable way of ever returning alive).

**Day157: Sept24  
King's Landing  
**+Issue 7 of _The Kingspost_ comes out. As expected, the double headlines of Lord-Commander Slynt's murder and Stannis' attack on an "innocent merchant vessel" out in the Blackwater incites some paranoia amongst the general populace – which, of course, continues to drive up sales of _The Kingspost_, setting a new record every week.  
**Autumn's Frontier  
**+Dr. Sean Duff, an anthropologist, and Robin Van Der Merwe, a geologist, inadvertently find themselves promoted to the leaders of the EE-L4 Colony's new "Thaumic Phenomena Research Unit".

**Day155 to 176  
Winterfell  
**+Before he heads south to join his son Robb on the battlefield, Ned spends some time at Winterfell, conducting important matters of diplomacy via raven, as well as resting and recuperating and preparing himself for the war. He and Catelyn are disappointed that no raven is forthcoming either from her sister at the Eyrie, or from Renly Baratheon down in Storm's End. However, Stannis Baratheon is open to an alliance, as he has something that Ned and Catelyn would very much appreciate.  
+In private, Fred, Daniel, and VENI confront Ned on this matter of Jon Snow's parentage, armed with the information from Jon's DNA tests, as well as several inconsistencies that VENI has identified in the historical record (for example, why was it that three of the Kingsguards – Sers Gerold Hightower, Arthur Dayne, and Oswell Whent – were guarding Lyanna Stark rather than guarding either the King or the Crown Prince at the time of the Battle Of The Trident?).  
+Arya Stark, still shocked and in mourning over the death of Nymeria, immerses herself fully in her "dancing lessons", as well dabbling in more of the Sky-People's culture (much to her father and mother's chagrin). She also starts developing a closer bond with her sister's direwolf, Lady.  
**Autumn's Frontier  
**+Sgt. Nathan Hawthorne receives orders from Lt. Archer aboard the _UNSV Belo Horizonte_: the fighting on EE-L0 and L5 has reached a point that Hawthorne's unit may have to be temporarily transferred to one of the two worlds within the next couple of months. This means that safety of the colony would fall to the White Wolves during this interim. Sgt. Hawthorne begins training the leaders of the White Wolves on how to take charge in the event that this comes to pass.  
+After flirting with each other for a while, Engineers Niall Donnelly and Kelly Adams start dating, you know, make it official and what not. However, the colony is rather bereft of any particularly romantic spots, so they go on a date to visit Winterfell and Winter Town instead.

**Day160: Sept27  
Outpost B, The North  
**+Ned Stark travels to Outpost B to meet this Targaryen girl that he has been told about... you know, the one he was willing to resign his handship to King Robert over. Well, that's the official story at least. Unofficially, he has something important and really personal that he needs to see Jon Snow about.

**Day164: Oct01  
King's Landing**  
+Issue 8 of _The Kingspost_ is published, featuring a special report by up and coming correspondent Paetyr Parquer on his analyses of the war and the current forces being raised in the North, the Riverlands, the Westerlands, and the Crownlands. It is, of course, full of utter nonsense and speculation, since Mr. Parquer is no tactician and has no way of knowing how many troops Robb has (or even how many Tywin has for that matter), but most people in King's Landing (including the King himself) aren't military experts of any kind and so obviously do not know any better.  
**Riverrun  
**+Ser Karyl Vance returns to Riverrun after having ridden all the way back from King's Landing (having left the day of the coup). Ser Vance rests a day before riding out again to join his father at the Golden Tooth.

**Day165: Oct02  
Pass Of The Golden Tooth, Border between Westerlands and Riverlands  
**+Edmure Tully's force of 6,000 men arrives to reinforce Vance and Piper's force of 6,000 already entrenched at the border between the Westerlands and the Riverlands.

**Day170: Oct07  
Pass Of The Golden Tooth  
**+The Grand Army Of The Westerlands arrives after a 15-day march from Casterly Rock, and makes camp on the Westerlands side of the border, about a mile from the Tully forces' defense lines.

**Day171: Oct08  
Moat Cailin, The Neck  
**+The First Army arrives after a 19 day march from Winterfell, averaging about 20 miles per day or so along the Kingsroad. The First Army's Engineer Corps under Lt. Col. Hallis Mollen is already there, and had been spending the last 3 weeks there, improving the fortifications and roadways there.  
**Pass Of The Golden Tooth  
**+Tywin Lannister makes a number of attempts to treat with Ser Edmure Tully under the banner of parley, later revealed to have actually been attempts to gather intelligence on the composition, size, and placement of the Tully forces.  
+Ser Karyl Vance arrives after riding in from Riverrun, just in time to join his father for the battle to come.  
+_Night_: a number of sellswords, posing as Riverlands bannermen, infiltrate the Tully lines under the cover of darkness.

**Day172: Oct09  
Pass Of The Golden Tooth  
**+_Morning_: Tywin assembles his entire host just outside the Tully lines, and "kindly" requests that a small diplomatic party of 12 men be allowed to travel to Riverrun to treat with Lord Hoster Tully himself. Ser Edmure, intimidated by the vast mustering of troops outside his walls, gives in to what seems a reasonable demand.  
+**The Battle of the Golden Tooth**. Sellswords disguised as Tully bannermen attack Tywin's diplomatic party while they are passing through Edmure's camp. Tywin, just outside, watches the scene unfold and declares this "unprovoked attack" to be "an insult to Lannister honor" and orders his men to attack. Tywin's army of 40,000 men quickly overwhelms the surprised defenders and delivers a crushing blow on the smaller Riverlands army of 12,000, suffering only 1,000 casualties in the process (mainly infantry). Ser Edmure Tully and Lord Vance and Lord Clement Piper are among those KIA. However, Lord Blackwood, and Sers Karyl Vance and Marq Piper (technically now _Lords _Vance and Piper) are able to escape with about 4,000 men, though most of these survivors scatter after the battle, and only a thousand or so (mainly cavalry) make it back to Riverrun.

**Day173: Oct10  
Riverrun  
**+A raven sent by Lord Tytos Blackwood arrives, bearing news of the disaster at Golden Tooth. In particular, the news of Ser Edmure's death causes severe emotional distress to Lord Hoster Tully, who is already in failing health at the time. Heir to the Lordship of the Riverlands passes by default to Lord Hoster Tully's younger brother, Ser Brynden "Blackfish" Tully, who is currently assembling the 6,000 or so bannermen whom he had been ordered to lead out to reinforce Ser Edmure's forces at the Tooth. Assuming command of the remaining Tully forces, Ser Brynden immediately begins revising their strategies and begins making plans for the defense of Riverrun.  
**Moat Cailin  
**+After a two-day rest, Robb's army departs, leaving a small garrison of 100 rifles and 200 archers to guard the passage, as well as explosives and orders to detonate the causeway in the event that Tywin Lannister makes it to the Neck.  
**Pass Of The Golden Tooth  
**+The Grand Army Of The Westerlands, having rested and recovered after the battle, pushes onwards to Riverrun.

**Day176: Oct13  
Winterfell  
**+Ned Stark departs Winterfell and rides south to meet up with his son Robb.

**Day178: Oct15  
Riverrun  
**+Lord Blackwood's survivors arrive. Ser Brynden Tully leaves the castle in Blackwood's charge and rides out with a thousand horsemen, seeking to raid and disrupt the Lannister forces as they march east along the River Road.

**Day184: Oct21  
Crossroads near the Trident River, Riverlands  
**+The Army Of The Crownlands arrives after a plodding 30-day march from King's Landing. The march was much slower than the armies of both the North and the Westerlands due to inexperience and poor training, as well as stopping frequently to pick up additional reinforcements along the way from a number of Crownlands Houses sworn to Joffrey. By the time Colonel Tyrion's forces arrive at Lord Harroway's Town, the unit has grown to some 6,200 men in total, including 2,000 Crownlands cavalry. Together with Tywin's host marching on Riverrun, this gives the Lannisters a total military strength of 45,000 troops: 11,000 cavalry, 34,000 infantry (including 2,000 of the much vaunted rifles), and 60 pieces of field artillery plus crews.  
+The last month hasn't been a total waste of time: Colonel Tyrion has been using the march and the evenings of the last 30 days to try and slip in a little more drilling and disciplining of the men. The forces then start digging in and fortifying the south bank of the Ruby Ford crossing over the Trident, as well as awaiting further orders from Lord Tywin.

**Day187: Oct24  
The River Road between Riverrun and Golden Tooth, Riverlands  
**+Ser Brynden Tully's constant hit-and-run raids on the Lannisters delay their progress by several days, but ultimately fails to halt their advance entirely. Ser Brynden begins taking drastic measures.

**Day191: Oct28  
Riverrun  
**+Lord Tywin Lannister's advance forces arrive and commence **the Siege Of Riverrun**. A Lannister host of 39,000 men will besiege a smaller force of 7,000 men.

**Day192: Oct29  
The Twins, Riverlands  
**+Lady Genna Lannister, sister of Lord Tywin and wife of Ser Emmon Frey (second son of Lord Walder Frey), sends a raven to warn her brother about the imminent approach of the First Army Of The North.

**Day 193: Oct 30  
The Twins  
**+The First Army Of The North is nearing the Twins...

**Day 194: Oct 31  
**...and bypasses it altogether. Apparently, Robb has something else in mind...


	94. Robb 4

_**Foreword**: special thanks goes to **Berat2beti**, **iddt3**, and **Corsair_Caruso** for reviewing the strategy in this chapter and giving their own ideas._

* * *

**Robb (IV)  
**  
The air was filled with the shouts of men barking orders to one another, the swishing and swirling of the Green Fork, the sounds of rope pulling taut, and the clattering of supply wagons and artillery caissons and limbers as they trundled across the planks set up between each pontoon. The bridge was mostly complete at this point, though much work still needed to be done before the rest of the army crossed. In the mean time though, the bridge was at the very least able to hold the weight of a fully-loaded supply wagon, or one of the field guns hitched to its limber and a team of horses, along with an attendant caisson carrying all of the shot and powder.

From atop his wooden watchtower hastily erected on the eastern bank of the Fork, Grey Wind standing attentive at his side, General Robb Stark watched the entire scene unfold below him. With more shouts and a great _**SPLASH**_, another of the pontoons, an older shallow-bottomed river boat from White Harbor that Lord Manderly had donated to the war effort, was being offloaded from one of the larger wagons. Once the army crossed, the entire process would have to be repeated, only in reverse.

"Do you like it?" asked the Young Wolf, beaming with pride. "I got the idea from my readings. It turns out that even the Great Napoleon Of House Bonaparte himself took ideas and inspiration from those that came before him. One of these men was a great general and statesmen known as Gaius Julius Caesar, from the great empire of Rome, which was to the Sky-People what Old Valyria is to us. About two thousand years ago, Caesar waged a war against another nation called Germania, except they were located across a great river called the Rhine. And so Caesar ordered his men to build a bridge across it, which they completed in only nine days. I do not think we could match that feat even if we tried. But another Roman, one named Vegetius, claims that after Caesar's time, the legions of Rome would always carry pontoons with them on wagons, which they could use to quickly set up a bridge far faster than even Caesar."

The man standing next to Robb, the only other person atop the tower, watched the whole scene in silence. At last, he spoke. "I must say, you have really outdone yourself this time, my son," replied Ned Stark, "I take it that most of the boats were Lord Manderly's contribution, no doubt. And the wagons?"

"Yet again, I have the Sky-People to thank for that," continued Robb, "the new wagon designs are far larger and sturdier, and yet travel so much faster than anything we had before. The best part is that compared to the other devices, they are relatively simple and straightforward for our own smiths to copy and repair."

"For all of the attention we give to their fire-arms and their cannons, it seems that it is the simplest things that are making the most difference," observed the father.

"At least as far as engineering is concerned," replied the son, "those iron nails and woodworking tools from the colony have been making a huge difference around Winter Town."

"So I have seen for myself." Robb was proud to see that his father was evidently greatly impressed by most the changes around the North that had transpired in his absence.

"I thought to appropriate a healthy stock of those nails and tools for the army, and to emphasize the importance of engineering during training," continued the Young Wolf, "that's why we probably have as many shovels, axes, and hammers in this army as swords or rifles. And why I've been having the men set up fortified camps every night, with the tents all laid out in neat and tidy rows."

"You seem quite fascinated by these... _Ronams_?" observed Ned.

"They were quite a fascinating culture," explained Robb, "they had none of the things that the current Sky-People have – no falcon-ships, no fire-arms ... not even stirrups or plate armor. And yet some of their achievements rival some of those of the Realm. They built a wall across a whole kingdom, called Hadrian's Wall, which is pretty similar to our Wall, though not as big. They also built a mountain once: about a hundred years after Caesar, the Romans fought a war against another nation, Judaea. The Judeans had this great stronghold of theirs called Masada, which sat atop a mountain. So the Romans built a great siege ramp that stretched from the plains below all the way to the top of this mountain for their siege towers and rams. The defenders of Masada realized the futility of their resistance, and all of them took their own lives rather than let the Romans take them."

"This Masada is beginning to sound somewhat like Casterly Rock," noted Ned, glumly. "I hope it need not come to that."

Robb had, actually, considered it. Though even with gunpowder and cannon, the Rock promised to be no easy taking. And that was assuming they even made it that far into the Westerlands, that they had first survived the onslaught of forty thousand hungry lions, especially if they came with two thousand traitorous King's Landing Rifles to boot. "Father, I hope it need not come to that either," he said, "which is why it is imperative that whatever happens, we have to end this war on our terms. And the only way to do that is to find the Old Lion himself, and take him out – him and the core of the Westerlands' military strength. Quickly and in one fell swoop if possible, or slowly and by a thousand small cuts if necessary."

"At the very least, Lord Tywin will still be expecting us at the Crossroads," observed his father, "he will have heard by now from his sister Lady Genna at the Twins, the one married to Lord Walder's second son."

"You were right not to trust Lord Frey," scowled Robb, "I never actually met him, but he was pretty rude to poor Theon when I sent him to treat with him."

Ned frowned. "I warned you, did I not? About those replies your mother and I received for those ravens we sent him? But we should have expected nothing less from the Lord Of The Double Crossing: he delayed to answer his liege lords call to Riverrun, just as he had years ago against the Mad King. And you sent Theon? He is a good boy but I am afraid he is no diplomat."

"He should consider himself lucky his bridge was never part of our plans, or I would not have thought twice about giving him a taste of the cannons," growled Robb, grinding his teeth. Grey Wind growled as well.

Ned shook his head. "Son, even in war, not every challenge can be surmounted by shot or shell. You have learnt much, but you still have much left to learn."

"Yes, father." Robb calmed down. "But whatever the case, this is to our advantage. As far as Tywin is concerned, it was either the Twins or the Ruby Ford for us."

"Aye," agreed his father, "this way, we shall bypass Lord Tyrion's defense lines at the Ford, and, with the grace of the Old Gods and the New on our side, catch Lord Tywin, without his guns or cannon, while his attention is turned toward Riverrun."

"Precisely," smiled the Young Wolf. He knelt down, right beside where Grey Wolf sat; he pulled out his map, and unrolled it across the floor. "Our latest intel suggests that the Imp is dug in with somewhere between five and ten thousand men, including those duplicitous King's Rifles and all those cannons of theirs too, while his father lays siege to mother's sacred ancestral home with a host as large as forty thousand strong. Once we cross the Green Fork... here," he indicated a point roughly halfway between the Twins and the Ruby Ford, "...we should be only 60 miles from Fairmarket, and the terrain between here and there is mostly flat; we shall cross the Blue Fork over the bridge there, and then follow the north bank of the Red Fork onwards to Riverrun."

"Lord Jason Mallister of Seagard promised your mother and I that he would be sending additional troops and supplies down the Blue Fork to meet with us in Fairmarket," added Ned.

"Good; we will need all the help we can get," spoke the Young Wolf, "though I take it that Aunt Lysa and the Vale lords will not be joining us for this leg."

"Lady Arryn has been... making herself difficult," said Ned, reproachfully, "I left that matter in your mother's good hands when I left Winterfell. But even then, the Vale lords will take time to muster – time we do not have."

"Well, at least this way, I estimate we will shave up to twelve days off the road to Riverrun," said Robb, looking out at the bridge, "and with the benefit that attacking the Ford is precisely what the Old Lion will expect of us, and thus, the underlying assumption he will have built his plans around. He will most certainly not be expecting us to show up where and when we do, nor to catch him without any of his guns or cannons."

"It is a bold strategy, no doubt," remarked the Old Wolf. "But tell me this, son: what happens if, Gods forbid, Riverrun were still to fall before we arrive, and all our efforts here are for naught?"

"That is a good question, father," answered Robb. "The whole point of this shortcut we are taking is to make sure that such an event never comes to pass, and I pray to the Old Gods and the New that it does not. Dear Mother took the news of the Golden Tooth very badly, and I would hate for us all to have endure the same again were my lord grandfather to fall." He paused before continuing. If he was entirely honest, that was a scenario he had considered, and hoped and prayed would not transpire. But alas as is during war, the danger of misfortune abounds, and as Napoleon himself once said, from the sublime to the ridiculous was but a small step indeed... "But, that said, were we to lose mother's ancestral home... at the very least we would still hold the element of surprise on our side. What we would then do is to cross the Red Fork at the Kneeling Man, set a trap along the River Road, and lie in wait. When Tywin's forces march east still thinking to intercept us at the Kingsroad, we spring the trap, and cut off the lion's head. If that doesn't end this war for good, we will at least have dispatched the brunt of the Lannisters' strength, leaving the Westerlands' legs open wider than those of the Queen."

"Language, son," chided the Lord Of Winterfell in jest.

The Young Wolf smiled. "It's good to have you back, father. I missed you."

"I missed you too, my son."

Robb rolled his map back up, tucked it into the pocket of the great coat he wore on top of his armor, and stood back on his feet. "Come to think of it," he said, "it was at the Kneeling Man three centuries ago that our great ancestor King Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon The Conqueror. Now, the tables have turned. Now, it is the last of the dragons who lives as our guest, and when we are through here, the North shall once again be as free as it was under the old Kings Of Winter."

His father, however, stopped smiling and shook his head disapprovingly. "Son," he spoke severely, "when this is all over, we will have a word about all of this business you have been conducting in my absence, all of this 'industrialization' and 'nationalism' and 'militarization'. This is not our way, the way of the First Men."

"And allowing the southrons to continue to have their way with us is?" snapped Robb. "Perhaps we should follow the example of the French, or this other nation, the one Lord Kovacs and Zimmerman are from, this United States Of America."

"I do not think you should continue this line of thinking, son," warned Ned, sternly.

"Why not, father?" protested Robb. "You overthrew the Mad King to replace him with who? A drunken fool who beggared the Realm to Casterly Rock, and did nothing when Bran was pushed by his wife? A wicked queen and her brother-lover who struck you down in the streets of the capital, and plotted to plant the spawn of their incest upon the Iron Throne? Their royal brat of a son, who tried to have you and my sisters killed? To say nothing about Jory, of Nymeria, of Alyn and Tomard and all the others?"

"You will watch your tongue, _boy_," seethed his father, "and you will not speak ill of Robert. Whatever he may have become late in life, he was my brother, he was your king, and it is for him that you are named. And it is by law and by divine right that the Realm now belongs to his brother, King Stannis Baratheon... whom I should perhaps remind you has taken your sister Sansa under his good charge."

To this last point, Robb knew he had no comeback, save perhaps to call another favor from Lord Kovacs, though he knew his father would never allow it now that he was back. As it is, he had already expressed disapproval over some of the more radical changes that Robb was trying to bring to the North. So he said nothing.

But Ned could read it in Robb's face what he meant to say, and beat him to the chase: "aye, I have seen your vision of a 'New North'... seen the new academy you and your mother have set up in the Broken Tower, all the young lordlings and ladies immersed in their study. I have seen the new clocktower that stands above the bustling market of Winter Town, busier than I have ever seen it before. I have seen the trucks, loaded with goods, that now crisscross the road between us and Autumn's Frontier. I have seen that new 'steamship' of Lord Manderly's, and some of those new boats that now ply the White Knife. Aye. But I have also seen the black smoke and the dying Weirwoods, and the ugly scars that now cover the land. And I too have read those books of the Sky-People, seen the pictures of millions put to death and entire cities reduced to rubble, and behind it all, the arrogance of a godless people who value nothing more than the accumulation of wealth and material belongings. And when the Goldrifles turned on us, that day, I found out there and then just what it means to entrust your life in the hands of those who value coin over honor."

"If it is moral depravity you fear, father, the Lannisters have beaten the Sky-People to it," retorted Robb, "and what of the great gifts they have bequeathed unto us? That Bran will walk again thanks to their sorceries? Or how they broke their own laws to come and save you and Arya from the lions' clutches? But above all, they have given us the means to fight for our freedom, to build a new future for ourselves. Can you imagine where we would be now if the Sky-People had never come to us? Bran would never walk again; you and Arya would still be down in the capital; Joffrey might even perhaps have your head by now... and Jon would live the rest of his life a bastard, perhaps even take the black, never knowing the truth _you_ hid from us all these years."

"Robb, my son," cut Ned, calmly but sternly, "do not think that keeping this from all of you, your mother especially, was a burden that came lightly. One day, when you have seen the things I have seen, you will understand."

Now that it had come up in this conversation, Robb was angering himself over the pretense he had lived under all these years... all these years that he and Jon had grown up together, fought together... when they were together when they found the direwolves, or when they first met the Sky-People. Lord Frederick and Ser Daniel and Lady Vaenya were right not to tell him, for he would not have believed it himself if not for the fact that it came from his father's own words. He was furious at how his father had always taught them to live by a strong personal code of honor and virtue, and yet all along he had hidden the truth from them, but he did his best to hold his tongue. He took a deep breath, and asked calmly: "if I may ask, how did Jon take it when you finally told him? Does he... plan to stake a claim upon the Iron Throne for himself?"

"Jon took the news admirably, like a true Stark should," stated Ned simply, "once he understood the sacrifices I have made all these years for him. But his old life is behind him now. The Sky-People are his family now, and he has made a good and honorable living for himself among them."

"Yes, 'fighting for coin over honor', I'm sure," muttered Robb, rolling his eyes. "Now that I think about all those times I had heard about that day when you and Howland Reed fought through half the Kingsguard to rescue my aunt... half the Kingsguard who weren't with, say, the Mad King himself, or his Crown Prince Rhaegar at the Trident."

At that moment, Grey Wind got up and began barking, as if annoyed, telling off father and son both for their petty quarrels. Robb was startled by this, as was, he could see, his father too. For a few moments, Wolf Young and Old both stood in silence and said nothing, instead looking down at the great commotion below them.

The construction of the bridge occupied, at most, a thousand men; those men on this side of the river not currently engaged in either the bridge itself or the movement of materiel across it, or in standing watch, instead engaged themselves in drilling. Sure enough, one could make out the shape in the distance that could only be the Greatjon of House Umber himself as he led the spears of the Third Division through its paces. Even with Robb's attempts to introduce standardized grey uniforms for all, the field before them was still a colorful patchwork of Stark grey, Bolton pink, Manderly blue, Karstark sable, Umber gules and many others (well, at least the banners and flags were; most of the fighting men, even those without the new grey uniforms, just wore rather drab clothing).

Robb could not remain angry at his father, not forever. Like any other family, the Starks were not without their differences, but whatever those may have been, the family had always endured and persevered through it in the end, and had done so ever since the days of Bran The Builder. Besides, whatever else, the mission at hand came first, and there was no time to waste on letting personal feelings get in the way, not while his mother's family lay under siege from some forty thousand lions hammering upon their gates.

"So... uh... father... about this Targaryen, this _Daenerys_..." asked Robb, hoping to break the ice between them by changing the topic, "what's she like? I'm afraid we left Winterfell in such a hurry that I didn't have time to meet her."

* * *

_**Footnotes:**_

_1\. Robb mentions Hadrian's Wall in England, which of course was GRRM's primary inspiration for Westeros' own Wall. He also mentions Julius Caesar's bridge over the Rhine, as well as the Siege Of Masada (73 A.D.), and Vegetius, the Roman writer who provides much of our knowledge on the operation of the Roman Army (and also many of the quotes on Rome Total War's loading screen). Robb also quotes Napoleon: "from the sublime to the ridiculous is but a small step"._

_2\. This website does not allow us to post pictures or maps with the story, although other websites do. However, for any of you who happen to have a map of Westeros handy, I'll briefly reiterate the current strategic situation: Robb and Ned are crossing the Green Fork River at a point roughly halfway between the Twins and the Ruby Ford. Tyrion's army is dug in, holding a defensive position at the Ruby Ford, approximately 10 to 12 day's marching south of them. Tywin's larger army is besieging Riverrun, approximately 2 weeks' marching west of Tyrion's position. By bypassing the Ford entirely, Robb hopes to save time marching to Riverrun's aid, and is also hoping to pull__ a Napoleon / Alexander / George Washington move here by doing something completely unexpected and against established convention. But will it succeed?_


	95. Tywin 4

**Tywin (IV)  
**  
Lord Tywin Lannister, Lord Of Casterly Rock, Warden Of The West, Supreme Commander of the greatest army the Realm had ever seen since the Conquest itself, was not a happy man. And no one, not even his own most prized son Ser Jaime of the Kingsguard, nor his most trusted lieutenants and command staff, none of them enjoyed gathering there in the command tent that night with an angry lion.

Yes, that day, he had received some new gifts sent him by the Sky-People, by way of his son: about thirty of those cannons, complete with their attendant crewmen, and a few of those marvelous boxes called "radios" that allowed one to speak with anyone, anywhere across the world. No, it was what he heard once he attempted to use one such "radio" to contact his _other_ son that had really ruffled his mane...

"You did _what_?" spoke the Old Lion, calmly but sternly. He was furious, but years of playing the game had taught him to keep his tongue and hear what the other party had to say before they truly heard him roar.

"Father," came the voice of the Imp, crackling and hissing from the metal box that now sat upon the central table, the centerpiece of attention for Tywin and all his gathered command staff. "I knew you would not approve, but I saw no other choice."

"Your orders were to dig in and hold the Ruby Ford at all costs," fumed Lord Tywin.

"I understand father," replied the Imp's voice, apologetically but firmly, "but the situation has changed. Robb Stark was last seen at the Twins seventeen days ago. Based on the impressive marching speeds his host has been showing thus far, he should be here in the next few days, and yet we've seen nothing thus far."

"What about this cavalry skirmish you reported?" inquired Ser Addam Marbrand, "between your scouts and his?"

"A diversion most likely," came the reply, "if Robb truly was bringing the rest of his forces down the Kingsroad right behind them, we would have seen far more than a mere hundred raiders by now."

"Impossible," sneered Tywin, "you would need a whole fleet or, failing that, several days at least to ferry an entire army across that river. Are you suggesting that the wolves... _brought one with them_? Across the land? Or perhaps you are suggesting that Lord Frey opened his Twins up to their passage after all, and thus your aunt Lady Genna's letters were falsified?"

"Well, I would not put it past Lord Frey to do something like that," remarked Tyrion. "From what I've heard, the man and loyalty mix like water and tar. He's father-in-law to my dear aunt Genna, and yet prefers to bide his time than ride to our aid."

"Lord Walder Frey is of lesser concern to me at this moment than this story you are now telling me," snapped Tywin, "that you disobeyed my orders and abandoned your post on a hunch you cannot prove, and now the road ahead to King's Landing is clear and open. Remind me why I should not have you stripped of your command right now and entrust it in the hands of someone else."

The Imp's impudence was really starting to get on the Old Lion's nerves. "Father, listen, even t'were the case that the wolves were indeed marching down the Kingsroad... Robb Stark has anywhere between twenty and thirty thousand men. He has more fire-arms than us, he has more cannons, more men, more horse, more training. Even with the natural bottleneck the Trident affords us, even with the defense lines we've raised there... we simply could not hold the Ford. Especially now that we are down thirty cannons and a thousand horses." He paused before adding: "if it helps, the idea for this, uh, _tactical withdrawal_ was mine and mine alone. No one else here disobeyed your instructions, father; no one else should suffer on my account."

"So you are now marching to us," seethed Tywin, "so what, pray tell, do you intend to do once you arrive here? Do you plan to... march all the way _back_ to the Ruby Ford again once the wolves have crossed?"

"It all depends on what the Stark boy is up to," explained Tyrion, "assuming that King's Landing is his goal after all... well, the further he advances into the Crownlands, the longer and more vulnerable his supply lines will be. Once we've united our hosts, we simply march in, cut him off, and trap him between our forces north of him, and the capital south of him, where dear sister and nephew are raising a second army."

"_His Grace_ The King and _Her Grace_ The Queen Mother," corrected Tywin, sternly. He was annoyed by his Imp son's stubbornness, but at the same time, he secretly admitted to himself that... _Tyrion was beginning to think like a true Lannister after all_. Still, though, he needed to find a way to test the limits of his reasoning... "And if he does not go for the capital?" he asked, "what if this bold theory of yours is true after all, and he is indeed marching here right at this very moment?"

"Well... that complicates things substantially," admitted Tyrion, "but at the very least, it is preferable we present this pack of thirty thousand wolves with a single, strong, united host of lion and stag, some forty five thousand strong."

"Forty three, actually," muttered Ser Addam on the side, "we have already lost a couple thousand to the fishes."

Tywin willfully ignored this; he did not want to be reminded of just how much of a thorn in the lion's paw that thrice-damned Blackfish had made himself as of late. Instead, he turned to the left, where his prized firstborn son stood. "What have you to say as to your brother's strategy?"

"If t'were I, I would yield nothing to these wild dogs!" declared Jaime, "especially when the lives of my dear sister and my, uh, _niece and nephews_ are at stake! But... alas, my brother has a point: with our armies joined together as a single great hammer... we stand by far the best chance of skinning this Young Wolf alive, once and for all!" As if to demonstrate this, he drove his right mailed fist into the tabletop with a dull THUD. "Our combined host of forty five thousand against his thirty? I say bring it on!"

"Forty-three, actually," corrected Ser Addam again, though Jaime ignored him.

Tywin turned his attention back towards the voice box: "Tyrion... we will have a word about this when you arrive. I will have you know that I do not tolerate this level of disobedience. Can you imagine the general anarchy that would prevail across our front lines if every commander was given the discretion to do as he saw fit? You had best pray this retreat of yours does not cost us this war."

"I understand your cause of ire, lord father," replied the Imp, diplomatically, "and I would most certainly have sought your council had you had a radio of your own when I made this decision four days ago. As things were, I simply had no way of reaching you any faster than a horse courier. I had no choice but to make a quick decision on the spot."

"Now that I have a 'radio' for myself, I expect that you will report to me every day with your progress," asserted the Old Lion firmly, "and that you will consult me every time you need to make an important decision. Understood?"

"Affirmative. Well then, if that is all for tonight, I had best be retiring to my quarters and resting for our march tomorrow. You will be pleased to learn that the Rifles are in much better shape these days then they were 'bout a month ago. We continue at this pace, we shall be with you at Riverrun in just over 10 days from now. Farewell father, over and out."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, right," came the Imp's reply, "my apologies. 'Over and out': that's what the Sky-People say when they're finished with a radio transmission. Over and out." With that, the speaking box fell silent.

Tywin, however, did not remain silent. He immediately turned to address everyone else gathered in his command tent at that moment. He began: "I want it understood amongst you, all of you, that Tyrion will be dealt with _severely_ once he arrives. I will not tolerate this level of disobedience under my command. Have I made myself clear?" The others all responded affirmatively.

"Lord brother, I would not dare think it, and I understand that you are displeased with this turn of events," spoke up Ser Kevan, "but we should look at how best we can work this new situation to our advantage. If Tyrion's forces are only ten days away from us, so he claims... well, we should have most of our siege-works completed by then, and with another thirty cannon to support our assault, we can..."

Tywin held up his hand, and Kevan instinctively kept quiet. "No, assemble the banners _now_," he spoke up bluntly, "assault commences within the hour."

"My liege... uh, are you certain of this?" asked Ser Addam, apprehensively.

Ser Kevan, on the other hand, was a lot more alarmed by these orders. "Lord brother!" he began, "we have had hardly, why, eighteen days of preparations at most! If we assail the walls now, we will lose hundreds!"

"_Thousands_," corrected Tywin. "We have reserves aplenty, but very little time. Sometimes it is necessary to expend one resource to conserve the other. Assemble the banners."

Ser Addam and Kevan were not exactly enthusiastic about carrying through with these instructions, but they also knew better than to have to be reminded of the Old Lion's orders a third time. Within minutes, Lord Tywin's words had been passed down the chain of command, throughout camp, and all along the watchtowers and parapets of the siege lines, down to the other two satellite camps. Within the hour, the war drums were being beaten, torches lit, and tens of thousands of men armed and assembled for the task at hand. If one man's voice could galvanize such a rapid response from so many, that voice belonged to the Lord Of Casterly Rock.

Tywin himself, resplendent in his gilded armor, red cape billowing in the wind, climbed to the top of the wooden watchtower erected just right near to his command tent. It had been a calm evening just hours earlier, but now the wind had started to pick up and howl, banners fluttering and whipping back and forth, flames flickering wildly atop a thousand torchlights across the camp. Even in the dark, Tywin could make out the shapes and shadows of thousands of men, their many helmets reflecting the torchlights like an army of stars at his feet.

All of this commotion had not gone unnoticed within the bastion of Riverrun itself. Tywin could see the turrets and parapets of the castle lighting up with torches, could hear the alarm bell being rung to warn the defenders of the impending attack. Within those walls, a school of some four thousand fishes were rushing to man their battle stations, desperately readying themselves to swim against the surging tide of some thirty nine thousand lions (well... actually thirty seven thousand) that was about to fall upon them.

"My liege," began Ser Addam Marbrand as he followed up right behind him, along with the rest of the general's council. "Crakehall's camp is reporting in that their towers are afloat, and the men are ready when we are. But Lefford's camp is reporting that their tower is having problems; it is leaning too much on its raft; they fear it may capsize once launched."

Tywin was unfazed. "They will send it anyway," he responded nonchalantly, "but empty; it will at the very least provide a valuable distraction. As long as we can breach the main gates, that is all that matters."

For the last two weeks, the Great Army Of The West had laid siege to Riverrun, divided between three camps. The main camp, commanded by Tywin himself and comprising the main body of some 20,000 men, was positioned just west of the castle; only the manmade moat separating them from the main gates. Lords Lefford, Brax, and Kenning, and another 7,000 men, were camped north of their position, across the Tumblestone River. Lord Stafford Lannister, Lords Crakehall and Westerling, and Sers Clegane and Prester and the remaining 10,000 men were all encamped east of the castle, across the Red Fork. A wood and earthen circumvallation wall had been raised between the three camps, though for obvious reasons, there where breaks in the wall where the Red Fork and Tumblestone rivers passed through. These gaps were patrolled almost continuously by men on rafts to ensure that none could enter nor leave the castle whether by boat or by swimming (as one should expect from the trouts of House Tully).

For the last two weeks, all three camps had engaged themselves in constructions of various kinds, the final array of which was rather impressive, even if only half were completed. From his vantage point, Lord Tywin beheld the looming hulks of seven massive siege towers – four in his own camp, two in Lord Stafford's, and another one in Lefford's camp – as well as the hulks of five more towers that were incomplete. Also visible was the nine turtle-like shells of wood mounted on rafts; these mobile shelters were to afford protection to the men as they crossed the moat on their approach to the wall. Usually, at least three or so would have been equipped with battering rams, but not tonight: Tywin had something very special planned. Not as visible as either the towers or the turtles, but still present, were the vast assortment of hundreds of rafts and ladders that had been hastily strung together.

Lord Tywin had tried every tactic. Diplomacy was never an option, as Lord Hoster and that Blackfish were not quick to forgive Ser Edmure's demise at the Golden Tooth, nor to agree to the hefty demands the Old Lion had set forth under parley (to be fair, the fault was partly his as well, for refusing to concede leaner terms to those who had cast their lot with the traitorous wolves, as well as perhaps using this conflict as a means of firmly cementing Casterly Rock's control over this region). And starvation alone would not work without at least a few more months on their side. The raging rivers that bounded the castle on two of three sides, and the wide moat on the third, precluded any attempts by their sappers at undermining the walls. In the end, the only option was a direct assault.

Below his vantage point were arrayed a row of a dozen siege engines, their crews standing at attention, ready to receive their orders. "HEIL TYWIN!" shouted the captains appointed to oversee each of these great machines as they stood to attention. Tywin said nothing but acknowledged their salutes. To his left were set up five of the old trebuchets – magnificent constructs these, each towering some sixty feet tall above the men serving them. To his right were the new arrivals of that day: some thirty of these fabled cannons he had heard much of. Now came the moment of truth...

"Jaime, you do the honors," commanded Tywin.

His son nodded obediently, and then strode to the edge of the watchtower, cleared his throat, smiled, and shouted so that all could gathered before them could hear. "MEN OF THE WEST!" he began, "A HUNDRED GOLD DRAGONS TO THE FIRST TEAM TO BREACH THE WALLS!" A great cheer arose from the men gathered below, and then the teams were off, eagerly vying for the honor of meeting Ser Jaime's bold challenge.

"PULL!" shouted the captain overseeing the five trebuchet teams, "PULL, YOU MISERABLE PEASANT DOGS! I will not lose a hundred Dragons to some new fangled contraption of iron and smoke! PULL!" The trebuchet teams were already at work, reeling back the great long arms of each device, hoisting up each of the massive swinging buckets, each holding some seven tons of sand and stone. When all five arms were pulled back into the loading position, the stones were loaded into the leather slings.

"RELEASE!" shouted the captain. At his command, all five of the arms were released, the massive counterweights began to fall, and five massive stones were slung at great speed through the air towards the walls of Riverrun. It was nighttime and dark, but even Tywin and everyone else around him could see the dust and rubble and shattered masonry thrown up as three of the rocks found their mark on the castle's outer wall; the fourth fell short and splashed down in the moat, while the fifth overflew the wall and crashed somewhere within the castle. Nothing much else happened, though the trebuchet crews were quick to give a huge cheer at the fruits of their labor.

"OUR TURN!" yelled the artillery captain. While the trebuchet crews had been at work, the cannon teams too had busied themselves with wheeling each device into position, unpacking the ammunition chests, retrieving the packages of powder and shell, and ramming these down the waiting barrels. At that moment, the first five or so of the cannons were already loaded. At the one closest to him, Tywin could see the gunner step forward, check the brass sights, and then proceed to poke a sharp iron rod down into the small hole at the rear end of the cannon. Tywin had inspected the devices earlier, and had been told that the purpose of this was to puncture the powder bag, exposing the explosive contents within to the spark. Sure enough, a second later, the gunner inserted a small device of some kind into the touch hole, to which was connected a length of cord. Clutching this cord in his hand, the gunner stood well back from the cannon, and then yanked as hard as he could...

**_BOOOOOOM_**.

The entire construct seemed to leap backward several feet as it belched forth a gout of flame and smoke; the shell itself flew out so fast that Tywin never saw it, only the straight but faint trail of dust and smoke it left behind it, and the explosion of rubble and dust that erupted from a spot on the castle walls a split second later.

It was now the cannon teams' turn to cheer as the trebuchet crew stared on, dumb founded. Tywin himself said nothing and remained expressionless, but inside, he felt he could almost do the impossible and smile for once in his life. The Sky-People had delivered on their promises after all, and with devices like these cannons in his charge, Casterly Rock was sure to become as unstoppable today as Aegon and his dragons were back in the days of the Conquest.

**_BOOOOOOM_** roared the second cannon, just a few seconds after the first, followed by a third and a fourth, together all releasing a great cacophony of sound and smoke and brilliant flame that lit up the night and seemed to send their chorus to the stars themselves. Yes, tonight, they will us hear us roar!

_And so he spoke,  
And so he spoke,  
That Lord of Riverrun  
But now the rains weep o'er his halls  
And now their time is done.  
Yes, now the rains weep o'er his halls  
And now their time is done._

* * *

_**Footnotes:**_

_1\. Misinformation has always been a major part of warfare: generals throughout history have often underestimated or overestimated the numbers of their enemies (or sometimes, more embarrassingly, of their own troops!), due both to deliberate enemy deception, but more often than not due to limited reconnaissance capabilities, especially in the age of traditional "line of sight" warfare._

_2\. The medieval trebuchets described here are all heavily modeled on a working historical reproduction featured at Warwick Castle in England, which was built in 2005, and is capable of flinging a 150kg shot over a distance of 300m. Two giant hamster wheels powered by humans running inside them are used to pull down the arm, thus lifting up the seven ton counterweight._

_3\. The M1853 "Napoleon" 12-pounder cannon is quite different from the trebuchet. The firing operation is as follows: first, a "package" that contains both the shot (cannonball, canister shot, or a shell) and the powder bag is rammed down the barrel. Then, the gunner rams a "priming iron" into the small hole at the back of the barrel ("the touch hole") in order to puncture the bag, thus exposing the powder within. Then, a flintlock device called a "gunlock" is inserted into the touch hole. The gunner then stands back (to avoid the recoil of the gun), tugs on the lanyard (the cord connected to the gunlock), which triggers the gunlock, creates a spark, and ignites the powder bag. After the shot, but before the next round is loaded, the inside of the barrel is swabbed by a wet sponge on a rod in order to extinguish any sparks that would ignite the cannon while it's being reloaded, as well as to help cool down the barrel. While firing, the cannon recoils backwards about five to eight feet, and so the men have to push it back into position before reloading. 19th century field guns like the "Napoleon" can be operated by as few as five men, but were usually operated by up to nine men per cannon because as the battle wears on, fatigue and attrition tend to set in._


	96. Battle Report 5: Siege Of Riverrun

**CLASSIFIED: for internal use only.**

**AFTER ACTION REPORT:**  
**The Fall Of Riverrun**

**1\. Date:** Day 192 to 211 (19 days total)  
**2\. Location:** Riverrun, confluence of the Tumblestone and Red Fork Rivers, Kingdom Of The Riverlands, Western Continent, Planet EE-L4.  
**3\. Participants:**  
+Kingdom of the Westerlands (House Lannister + allies)  
+Kingdom of the Riverlands (House Tully + allies)  
**4\. Outcome:**  
+Major Lannister Victory: Riverrun captured; power of House Tully neutralized.

**5\. Order Of Battle:  
**

**5.1. Westerlands Forces: 40,000 total  
**+9,000 cavalry  
+30,000 infantry  
_Crownlands Reinforcements:  
_+1,000 cavalry  
+30 cannons + 150 artillerymen  
_Siege train:  
_+12 siege towers (only 6 fully functional)  
+18 trebuchets  
+1 gate breaching bomb  
+Unknown hundreds of assault ladders and rafts.  
**_Commanders:  
_**+Lord Tywin Lannister  
+Sir Jaime Lannister  
+Sir Kevan Lannister  
+Sir Stafford Lannister  
+Sir Addam Marbrand  
+Lord Gawen Westerling  
+Lord Leo Lefford  
+Lord Roland Crakehall  
+Sir Lyle Crakehall  
+Sir Gregor Clegane  
+Lord Andros Brax  
+Sir Forley Prester

**5.2. Riverlands Forces:**  
+4,000 defenders within the castle (all infantry)  
+3,000 raiders outside the castle (approx. two-thirds cavalry and one third light infantry)  
**_Commanders:  
_**+Lord Hoster Tully (_de jure_)  
+Sir Brynden Tully (_de facto_)  
+Lord Tytos Blackwood  
+Lucas Blackwood  
+Lord Karyl Vance The Younger  
+Lord Marq Piper  
+Sir Raymun Darry  
+Sir Ronald Vance

**6\. Prelude:  
**  
Following the Battle Of Golden Tooth (please see our previous report, "Battle Of The Golden Tooth"), Lord Tywin Lannister continued his campaign deeper into Riverlands territory, leading his army onwards to the Kingdom Of The Riverlands' capital of Riverrun, located at the confluence of the Red Fork and Tumblestone Rivers.

Meanwhile, the news of the disaster at Golden Tooth sent shockwaves throughout House Tully and their allied houses, not least of all, the deaths of Sir Edmure Tully, Lord Hoster Tully's heir, as well as Lords Karyl Vance Sr. and Clement Piper. Sirs Karyl Vance Jr. and Marq Piper both immediately inherited the title of "Lord" of their respective houses, while the heirship to House Tully passed to Lord Hoster's younger brother, Sir Brynden Tully. Lord Hoster Tully was already in a failing state of health (exacerbated greatly by the news of the untimely death of his last surviving son), and so _de facto_ command of all remaining Riverlands forces fell to Sir Brynden.

Sir Brynden immediately imposed a number of drastic changes to House Tully's war effort and strategy, choosing to focus on hit-and-run raids and something akin to the medieval version of guerrilla warfare in order to slow down the onslaught of the Lannister army, while giving the forces that remained in Riverrun sufficient time to make preparations for the siege. These preparations included the stockpiling of supplies of food, weapons, and arrows, as well as sending most of the civilian populace of Riverrun northwards to seek refuge in the lands of the few Riverlands lords not yet overrun by the Lannisters, such as House Mallister of Seagard. In this way, Sir Brynden ensured that there would be less hungry mouths to feed during the siege (although we suspect he also may have realized that Riverrun would fall eventually, and thus sought to reduce the number of inevitable civilian deaths).

Brynden's tactics, while effective at delaying Tywin's advance by several days and taking the lives of over a thousand Lannister troops and injuring many others, were ultimately insufficient to halt their advance entirely. By Day191, following an 18 day march from Golden Tooth, Tywin's advance parties and scouts arrived only a few miles from Riverrun. At that point, Sir Brynden made the drastic choice to divide his total forces into two: most of the infantry would remain within the castle under the command of Lord Tytos Blackwood, while Sir Brynden himself would remain outside the castle with his cavalry, and would continue his campaign of raiding and harassing the Lannister army. Sir Brynden's long term hope was to starve the larger army by preventing any successful foraging in the surrounding area.

**7\. Course Of Battle:  
**

**7.1. The Siege Begins:  
**

The siege proper began on Day192 once the rest of the Westerlands army arrived. As was usual in siege warfare in our own Medieval ages back on Earth, the attacking army's first action was to completely surround the besieged stronghold on all sides in order to cut them off from the outside world, and also in the hopes of eventually starving the inhabitants into submission. To this end, Tywin ordered his troops to establish three different camps, as well as walls of _circumvallation_ connecting each camp.

Tywin's main camp (hereafter "Camp#01"), housing some roughly 20,000 troops in total, was located immediately to the west of the castle. The first satellite camp (hereafter "Camp#02"), under the command of Tywin's cousin, Sir Stafford Lannister, and Lords Westerling and Crakehall, and housing 11,000 troops, was located just east of the castle, across the Red Fork River. The other satellite camp (hereafter "Camp#03") was located north of the castle, across the Tumblestone River. Camp#03 housed the remaining troops, and was placed under the command of Lords Lefford, Brax, and Kenning.

The main problem afflicting the Lannisters, aside from the continued raids by Sir Brynden's forces that claimed at least another thousand lives over the course of the nearly three week siege, was the natural geography of the area. Riverrun, you see, was built at the confluence of two major rivers specifically for defense purposes. The castle's outer wall was built in the shape of a triangle in order to conform to the two rivers, with the north wall facing the Tumblestone, while the southeast wall faces the Red Fork. A large manmade moat runs in front of the southwest wall, effectively turning Riverrun into an island.

To this end, the Lannister forces engaged in a series of constructions in order to try to overcome these obstacles. First order of business was to build the rafts needed to move troops and equipment across the rivers for transiting between camps. Meanwhile, construction commenced on the circumvallation wall meant to both cut off the castle, as well as to afford the Lannister forces some measure of security from Brynden's raiders, who continued to raid and harass the Lannisters as the walls were raised, as well as eliminating any foraging parties sent out without sufficient protection of Lannister cavalry. Continued skirmishing took a heavy toll on both sides, but there was no clear winner: the Lannisters took heavier losses, but were able to frustrate Sir Brynden's determined efforts to break the siege.

**7.2. Siege Constructions  
**

The wall was raised relatively quickly, but mainly because it was a simple and straightforward affair: a trench and raised earthwork roughly 1.2m (4ft) tall, topped off with a wooden stockade averaging another 1.2m (4ft) in height (thus giving a total height of 2.4m or 8ft), built to a total length of approx. 4km (2.5 miles). For obvious reasons, large gaps had to be left in this wall where the two rivers passed through; at these points, ropes were strung up across the river, and used to pull rafts back and forth, constantly on the lookout for any castle defenders who attempted to escape the castle by swimming or by boat. Thanks to the massive reserves of manpower Lord Tywin had at his disposal, the wall was able to be raised in a short period of time. It was the other constructs that he commissioned that proved to be more troublesome.

During the roughly two week period of the siege, Tywin put all of his men to work on building an assortment of siege engines, including the following: 12 siege towers (though only seven were completed), 18 trebuchets, 15 tortoises (5 of which housed battering rams), 100 ballistae, and an as-yet undetermined number of ladders, rafts, and simple wooden shields for providing the men cover from arrows. But the real centerpiece of Lord Tywin's siege train came on Day210, when reinforcements sent from his son Colonel Tyrion Lannister arrived, consisting of the following: 30 M1853 horse-drawn guns (plus attendant crews), and approx. 1,000 cavalrymen who escorted these cannons safely across the Riverlands territory.

While the M1853 "Napoleon" 12-pounder is a light field gun and not meant for siege warfare, it can and has been used as such before on an _ad hoc_ basis during the Crimean and American Civil Wars. Our variant of the M1853 was manufactured to handle both "conventional" shot appropriate for the Victorian Era, as well as newer, more modern shells designed and produced by our team in the Epsilon Eridani System for all of our native allies and militias within the star system. These newer and more modern ordnances combine the best of 22nd century design, materials, and manufacture, while still intended to fit right at home in a 19th century setting. We supplied both to the King's Landing Rifles, but the latter proved by far more useful to the Lannisters' cause in this battle.*

_***Please see attached file**__: the __**M1853-2154 Light Armor Piercing Explosive Shell**__ was designed and produced by our team aboard the UNSV Belo Horizonte with the goal of suiting the needs of indigenous consumers from across Planets EE-L0, L4, and L5 to face local threats while at the same time avoiding supplying them a deadlier and more modern munition that could be used against us. The design is heavily modeled on those shells used by various Civil War re-enactors throughout the United States Of America, though with the obvious difference of being intended to be, you know, used in an ACTUAL war. Designed specifically for use with the M1853 Napoleon 12-pounder cannon, the 4kg shell has a maximum effective range of up to 2,000m. The shell is, of course, completely useless against the titanium-platinum-iridium hyperalloy armors used on our mechs and armored vehicles, but it is more than sufficient to penetrate and blast apart primitive, medieval-level stone fortifications.  
_  
If for nothing else, the Siege Of Riverrun would go done in history as the formal introduction of the cannon and the bomb into Westerosi warfare. While cannons had been used before in at least two smaller engagements (these being a single cannon utilized, quite by accident, during the King's Landing Coup, and a pair of 18-pounder chasers, acquired though black market means, used in a sea battle in the Blackwater between followers of Stannis Baratheon and Petyr Baelish), the battle at Riverrun was the first time artillery was utilized on such a large scale. (Please consult the separate reports we have filed on these two incidences).

**7.3. The Final Assault  
**

In addition to the artillery and a thousand more horsemen, Tyrion's reinforcements also delivered a two-way solar-powered radio to Lord Tywin, in order to help ease communications between the two armies. Tywin, however, was displeased when he contacted his son and found out that he had abandoned his position several days earlier in order to march west and link up with his father's army. This meant that, as far as Tywin was concerned, the route to King's Landing was wide open for the Stark forces.

Thus, motivated in large part by the urgency of the new situation (and perhaps at least partly by his annoyance at his son's unilateral decision to disobey a standing order), Tywin demanded that regardless of where preparations for the siege were at that moment, Riverrun should fall that very night. Tywin took a calculated gamble: while casualties were guaranteed to be high, Tywin reasoned that it was far better to expend the lives of some of his men, particularly the mercenaries as well as those troops most undisciplined and prone to mutiny, than to lose any more time on the siege.

Within the hour, Tywin's orders had been passed down the chain of command and out to Camps#02 and 03 as well. The castle defenders did not fail to take notice of the commotion just outside their walls, and rushed to man their defenses. What they were not prepared for was what came next.

At around 2100hr, the order was given, and the main assault began with a relentless three hour-long artillery bombardment which included stones and fireballs launched by the trebuchets, and cannonballs and shells from the cannons, which wrought absolute devastation amongst the defenders. We are certain that the Riverrun forces were not completely ignorant as to the existence of gunpowder, but all the same, the first time a medieval-level army is exposed to its use must be quite a shocking affair – let alone, a sustained bombardment as long and thorough as the one the Lannisters employed that night. We estimate that the Lannisters used at least two thirds of their available shot and shell in one night, and that as many as a thousand castle defenders were killed or wounded due to the barrage alone.

At two different spots along the southwest wall, sustained and concentrated artillery fire with the special armor penetrating shells managed to open up breaches in the walls. A third breach was opened at the gatehouse when the Lannisters employed _a bomb_. Having never detonated one before, the Lannisters seem to have severely underestimated the strength of our Company™-manufactured explosives, and thus, had packed double the charges otherwise recommended. The subsequent detonation was probably larger than anticipated, and certainly impressive enough to take out not only the gates, but the entire gatehouse along with it (as well as a few hundred soldiers on both sides).

At around midnight local time, the primary assault from Camp#01 began on the southwest wall. Here, the artillery bombardment had inflicted severe damage on the castle and on the defenders' morale; nevertheless, Lord Blackwood managed to rally the remaining defenders to put up a heroic resistance. They were aided greatly by the formidable barriers posed by the moat, which the attacking forces had to cross first by raft before they could assail the walls themselves. This attack was spearheaded by Tywin's least valuable troops, including several Essosi mercenaries, with the more valuable men-at-arms following just behind them.

The secondary assault came from Camp#02. It was here that the defenders put up the strongest resistance, even managing, aided by the fast flowing current of the Red Fork, to topple one of the towers against the other. Lord Roland Crakehall, who was personally commanding the second tower at the time, was killed during this incident (though it is unclear whether he was crushed by the first tower, or drowned in the river after both towers sank); his title will pass on to his eldest son, Sir Tybold Crakehall (who was not present at this battle, though his brother, Sir Lyle, was).

Camp#03 saw the least fighting, as they had completed only one siege tower, and due to shoddy construction techniques, this tower was found to be dangerously unstable when it was launched into the river. Thus, Tywin had instructed that this tower be launched empty, so as to serve only as a diversion. Sure enough, the defenders along the north wall of Riverrun succeeded in toppling this tower, but this was a victory for Tywin as it meant that every soldier rushing to man the north wall meant one less soldier manning one of the other two walls.

**7.4. The Last Stand  
**

In spite of stubborn resistance from the castle defenders, the Lannisters eventually succeeded in finally forcing their way into the castle, through six points, all along the southwest wall: through the two breaches opened up by the artillery fire, through the main gates that were successfully breached thanks to the bomb, and through the last three remaining siege towers. The battle then devolved into a confused melee, across the tops of the walls, down into the main bailey, and, eventually, into the tight confined rooms and hallways of the castle keep.

Knowing that the castle was gone, Lord Tytos Blackwood rallied the survivors at the keep. There, he ordered his son Lucas to take a small group of defenders to the boathouse on the easternmost edge of the castle and attempt an escape by launching about a couple dozen boats and rafts, hoping to punch through the blockade of the river. About half of them, incl. Lucas Blackwood himself, managed to escape; the rest were intercepted by shore-based Lannister archers or ballistae.

The central keep of Riverrun continued to hold out for well into the morning of Day211 before it was finally overwhelmed. The rest of the garrison retreated to the main hall, where Lord Blackwood, refusing to surrender, led a determined last stand. It finally took the efforts of Tywin's own son Sir Jaime Lannister, who personally led the party that fought and killed Blackwood's men to the last man standing. At some point, Lord Hoster Tully himself was found dead in his bed chambers, although his exact cause of death is uncertain at this moment, and will likely remain so unless we can send a medical examiner down to Riverrun without arousing too much suspicion. However, knowing that Lord Hoster was already in a bad state of health (exacerbated no doubt by the loss of his son and heir Sir Edmure Tully), we suspect that he may have suffered a heart attack during the three hour artillery bombardment that preceded the main assault.

Sir Brynden's raiders continued to attack and harass the Lannister host as the siege was underway, but were forced back by the superior numbers of Lannister cavalry (who did not participate in the assault due to the uselessness of horses in siege warfare). Despite his best efforts, Sir Brynden was forced to face the unfortunate truth that nothing now could save Riverrun, and so he and his raiders, along with a handful of survivors and escapees from the castle, turned and fled east along the Red Fork in the hopes of joining up with the Stark forces who were still several days away, rushing to Riverrun's aid.

**8\. Casualties:*  
8.1. Westerlands:  
**+8,000 KIA or WIA (approx. 500 cavalry and 7,500 infantry; 18% of all forces)  
+Lord Roland Crakehall KIA  
**8.2. Riverlands:**  
+3,500 KIA or WIA (50% of all forces; 64% if captured are taken into account)  
+1,000 POW  
+Lord Hoster Tully KIA  
+Lord Tytos Blackwood KIA  
+Sir Raymun Darry POW  
+Sir Ronald Vance POW

_***NOTE**: these figures are approximate and are inclusive of ALL casualties from raiding and skirmishing between the Battle Of Golden Tooth, and the final assault.  
_  
**9\. Aftermath:  
**

We expect that the fall of the Riverlands' capital and the death of Lord Hoster Tully will yield some major effects, both immediately, and long term as well. First of all, with the death of Lord Hoster Tully, the title of lordship of the Tully Faction has now passed on to his younger brother Sir Brynden Tully. Brynden, however, is currently childless, and we do not believe that the current state of war in the Riverlands affords him the time and leisure to produce an heir. Therefore, if he were to hypothetically perish at some point in this conflict, Lordship of the Riverlands would legally pass to Lord Eddard Stark via his marriage to the late Lord Hoster's eldest surviving child, Lady Catelyn Stark (nee Tully). Provided, of course, that the Stark Faction emerges out of this conflict alive and well, it would certainly be interesting to see what would be the longterm political effects of a "Dual Kingdom Of The North And Riverlands".

That is all long term, however. For the time being, we of course expect this battle to be a major setback for the Northern and Riverlands war effort. Robb and Ned Stark broke from conventional Westerosi military doctrine by bridging the Green Fork River expressly for the purpose of rushing to Riverrun's aid; we expect the news that Riverrun fell before they could arrive to have a major detrimental effect on the morale of the Northern and Riverlands army currently marching on the Red Fork River. Nevertheless, the Stark forces still hold the advantage of surprise on their side, but the key for them will now be to capitalize on this advantage before Lord Tywin unites his army with that of his son Tyrion, currently marching west along the Red Fork as of the filing of this report. Unless the Starks move quickly, they will find themselves caught between two hostile forces.

All of that said, however, we must remember that the Siege Of Riverrun was a costly affair for the Lannisters too, causing some roughly 8,000 killed or wounded in total between Lord Brynden's raiding and the final assault. Combined with the small garrison force that will be left in Riverrun, we estimate that Tywin's forces now number no more than 32,000 total, although if he were to meet up with Tyrion's forces, that would give him a total of 37,000 troops, which still gives him a substantial numerical superiority over his opponents, and in spite of their inferior training, the tremendous morale boost to come out of a major victory as this is not to be discounted. Furthermore, the Lannisters' sizable cavalry arm remains largely intact (they were not utilized at all during the assault on the castle as horsemen are useless against a fortification). We have run the simulations for the next few days, but even this late, small and unforeseen events can still drastically alter the variables towards one side or another.

**_This report was prepared by [NAMES REDACTED] on [DATE REDACTED]. All information and opinions expressed are accurate to the fullest extent of all individuals' knowledge. As a preliminary draft, the information in this document is HIGHLY CLASSIFIED and FOR INTERNAL USE ONLY. Any information contained within this document must be approved by our Censorship Board before being made public. _**


	97. Podrick 1

**Podrick (I)  
**  
Private Podrick Payne of the 4th Platoon, 1st Regiment of His Grace's Royal King's Landing Rifles, looked up ahead of him, and then behind. All he could see ahead was the backside of the rifleman marching in front, and all he could see behind was the next man behind him, and maybe, just maybe, the distant shape of the supply wagons and horse-drawn cannons and limbers at the rear of the column.

The River Road seemed to stretch on and on, and Pod's marching kit was beginning to cut into his shoulders. Oh, how he spent every waking minute of every day cursing that ruddy rucksack and its contents, or the tight leather jackboots on his poor sore feet, or the endless mud of the road, or that heavy steel helm and cuirass that weighed him down, or that heavy rifle he carried... he could go on and on. But all the same, he and the other men of the platoon marched on, all too fearful as to what would happen to anyone who proved wanting of the commissar's lash. Pod looked around him. Yes, there he was alright, riding an ominous black horse alongside the column. He was some Braavosi sellsword named Captain Palmyro or Gerasho or something like that, but everyone in the company just called him "Give Me Another", because of his wicked habit of often breaking his cane over the mens' backs, and thus demanding to his aide "give me another!".

To pass the time during the march, some of the men in the column had broken out into song to cheer themselves up. The one they were singing at the moment was an old, traditional Westerlands balled called "The Watch On The Rock"; some of the appointed officers of the KLR, nobles and knights of the West selected by the Queen herself, had spent some time teaching it to the others while on the march from King's Landing...

_"The great lion roars like thunder's peal,  
Like crashing waves and clangs of steel,  
To the Rock! The Rock! The lion's pride!  
Who'll defend our Rock? We must decide!  
Dear Westerlands, no fear be thine,  
Dear Westerlands, no fear be thine!  
Firm and true stands the Watch of Casterly Rock,  
Firm and true stands the Watch of Casterly Rock!_

_They stand some fifty thousand strong,_  
_Quick to avenge their kingdom's wrong._  
_With duty and courage their bosoms swell_  
_They shall guard the sacred lion's den well._  
_Dear Westerlands, no fear be thine,_  
_Dear Westerlands, no fear be thine!_  
_Firm and true stands the Watch of Casterly Rock,_  
_Firm and true stands the Watch of Casterly Rock!_

All of a sudden, the music was disrupted. **_TWEEEEEEEEEET_** came the shrill wail of a whistle being blown somewhere further up the column; immediately after came the cries of additional whistles piercing the air and the shouts of "HALT!" from all the officers and commissars up and down the line. If nothing else, that was one order the men of the Rifles could follow at once easily. The entire marching column ground to a standstill.

"What's going on?" muttered Private Benjamyn, also of the 4th Platoon, who was standing immediately to Pod's right, "Pod, can ya see anything?"

"I dunno, Benji," replied Pod, "I don't think we're under attack though." He looked ahead, and saw four men all ahorse, riding alongside the column, towards the back. One of them was immediately recognizable by his stature: the Little Colonel himself (though as of late, some of the men had started calling by that name that Merchant Prince of the Sky-People kept calling him, "Halfdude" or something). Beside him rode one of the sellsword captains, and two of the highborn officers (who seemed to regard the sellsword riding beside them with little more than distaste). The other commissars and officers up and down the column all stood at attention as the four passed them by one by one. As they rode past him, Podrick could hear some of what was being said between them.

"How far are we?" asked Colonel Tyrion Lannister, urgently.

"Sir!" replied the sellsword, Captain Bronn, "best we can tell, it'll be at least another day on foot before we meet up with your father's host."

Tyrion shook his head. "No, too late. The wolves will have sprung their trap by then. Seven Hells, I've tried to warn father, but he just won't listen! I s'pose it's up to us now to ride in and save the day."

"Aye, the horsemen can reach there soon enough if we push 'em hard," spoke up one of the Westerlands-appointed officers, one Lieutenant Amory Lorch, "but what about the rest of the column?" He cast a disapproving sideways glance at Podrick and the other men on foot.

Tyrion was silent for a moment as he thought this over. Then... "empty the supply wagons."

"I beg your pardon?" asked the other officer, Lieutenant Oswell Kettleback of the Crownlands.

"You heard me," replied the Colonel, "throw off _everything_ save for the ammunition. Food, supplies, cooking gear, tents, tools - throw it all off and make space for the men. We'll hitch up extra horses to each of the wagons and cannons, and then fill each wagon with as many men as can be carried. Everyone else will continue on foot; they'll serve as a valuable distraction from our real strike force."

"And where, pray tell, do you intend to obtain these... _extra horses_ from?" spat Lieutenant Lorch.

"Why, _yours_, of course," replied Tyrion, nonchalantly, "we've about 50 mounted officers and a thousand mounted men at arms; that's in addition to the horses we already have towing our wagons and limbers. With that extra speed, we'll make these next few miles easily enough, and then fall upon the wolves when and where they least expect it. If at the very least we can provide a distraction, we mayhaps buy my lord father enough time to salvage his forces from the wolves' ambush."

"What?! No! This is an outrage!" fumed Lorch, casting a spiteful glance up and down the column of halted riflemen, "I will not suffer to lend my horse to the carriages and have to ride with those... those _vermin_!"

"Very well, you're demoted to corporal then," retorted Tyrion, narrowing his eyes.

The knight turned visibly red in the face, and looked ready to draw his sword there and then and reduce the Halfman down to perhaps a Quarterman. He probably would have too, were it not for Captain Bronn who stood firmly by his commander's side, glaring at the knight, and clutching the rifle slung on his back. Ser Lorch scowled and turned his horse around and instead took out his anger on one of the poor stable boys accompanying the column, kicking the poor boy in the head.

Tyrion, to his credit, remained calm, but began to raise his voice: "Captain Bronn, this man's insolence is threatening our regiment's cohesion. Dispense with him."

"Yes sir," replied the sellsword captain, obediently, as he pulled up his rifle, clicked off the safety, took aim...

"What?!" cried Ser Lorch, aghast.

**_BANG_**.

The shot missed deliberately, hitting the ground near Ser Lorch's horse's feet, but it was enough to put the creature to panic, rearing up, and throwing off its rider. Lorch cried out in pain as he landed on the ground on his back with a hard _THUMP_.

At once, several of the other mounted noble officers, who had ridden over to Tyrion's position to see what all the commotion was about, began to shout in anger and protest over Ser Lorch's treatment (and, by extension, their own, if all were expected to hand over their mounts to the wretched smallfolk). Some even waved their swords in the air. Podrick gulped. A mutiny amongst the officers was something even the common soldiers didn't particularly like the idea of. Oh, a horse, a horse, a kingdom for a horse indeed...

But the Colonel Halfdude kept his cool, held up his hand, and immediately, all of the sellsword captains and commissars all stepped forward and pointed their fire-arms at the quarrelsome nobles. Unlike the appointed officers, these men's fealty had been obtained with coin, and as the current source of this gold was none other than Tyrion himself, thus was it to him that they were now beholden, and his wishes that they now carried out dutifully. That calmed everything down at once. "If you cannot follow the orders of your superior, then to the frontlines with you, I say!" sneered Tyrion, looking down at where Ser Lorch lay on the ground, "prove your valor there, and I may reconsider your demotion. Disobey me again, and it will be the firing squad for you!"

The Little Colonel then turned to address the rest of the officers and captains gathered around him: "and let that serve as a warning to the rest of you too! You can fall in behind me, or be crushed under my heel! _But you will NOT stand in my way!_ Now empty those wagons, and have every extra horse we can spare hitched up to them! I want twelve horses pulling every cannon and limber! I want ten horses pulling every wagon! I want a mix of rifles and archers in each wagon! We will ride all night if we must, but we will catch these wolves offguard! And we will save the Army Of The Westerlands from the certain doom that awaits it, or we will die trying!"


	98. Tyrion 4

**Tyrion (IV)**

"Halfdude! HALFDUDE!" came the clamor of all the men gathered throughout the camp, cheering him on, clearing a path for him. Tyrion had to admit, he was rather enjoying it. Today's action had amounted to little more than a glorified skirmish (albeit one wherein hundreds and hundreds of men on both sides died), but at that moment, just to have survived the ambush felt almost as good as if they'd won the war. Captain Bronn and Private Payne were the only two others who followed Tyrion; they too weren't used to being paraded around camp like the heroes of old, so they basked in the moment for all it was worth.

Up ahead lay the main command tent where the Little Colonel knew that someone very, uh, _special_ was awaiting him, probably with something very _special_ to say to him. Tyrion sighed, held his breath, and entered the lion's den.

The inside of the tent was much larger and more spacious and far better than most others, not least of all the soggy miserable little field tent that had been Tyrion's abode since they left King's Landing months ago. Dinner hadn't been served yet, though he could catch a whiff of the mouth-watering aromas wafting in from the kitchen tent next door. And dominating most of the tent's interior was the long oaken table where sat some twenty five or so men who all looked to Tyrion as he entered.

Seated at the far side, at the head of the table, was the Old Lion himself, Lord Tywin Lannister. As usual, he did not look particularly pleased with anything, and Tyrion wondered if his displeasure tonight was to be directed more at Tyrion, or at the Northmen for their cunning trap, or even (dare he imagine it?) at _himself_ for having wandered right into it.

Tyrion took a moment to take stock of the rest of his dining company for tonight. Seated by his father of course was his dear brother Ser Jaime, who looked a little battered and disheveled after today's near-disaster, but determined as ever to get back at the thrice-damned wolves. Next to him sat his uncle Ser Kevan, and his cousin Ser Stafford Lannister. Right across from them sat Sers Addam Marbrand, Forley Prester, and of course the massive shape that could only have been the Mountain of House Clegane, impressive though not as fearsome as he used to be before that fateful Tourney all those months ago.

Further down the table were others of the Westerlands: Lords Leo Lefford, Gawen Westerling, Terrence Kenning, Andros Brax, and Quenten Banefort, and Sers Lyle Crakehall, Raymond Ruttiger, and Manfryd Yew. Also present were some of the highest ranking officers of the King's Landing Rifles, including Lieutenants Oswell Kettleback and Balman Byrch, Captain Jacelyn Bywater, and (Tyrion noted), _Corporal_ Amory Lorch, who sulked in the corner and turned his head away as Tyrion took his seat. Captain Bronn and Private Payne remained standing; they were not permitted to dine with the high command, and had only come as part of Tyrion's honor guard.

For a moment, everyone was silent. Then at last, Tywin was (of course) the first to speak. "Tyrion," he said, nodding calmly, acknowledging his younger and less loved son's presence.

"Lord Father," he replied, bowing his head respectfully, "it is... good to see you."

"And who, pray tell, are these companions of yours?" inquired the Old Lion. Tyrion figured he probably knew already, but wanted to make a show of them in front of the others.

Bronn was the first to stand at attention and give the Lannister salute. "M'lord! Captain Bronn of the First Regiment, His Grace King Joffrey's Royal King's Landing Rifles, reporting for duty, m'lord!"

Tywin Lannister's distaste for sellswords and smallfolk and others he saw beneath him was well known, but even he recognized their usefulness, and he had evidently heard about how Bronn had proven his mettle on the battlefield earlier that day. To allow this lowly captain to dine with the high lords of the West was _unthinkable_, but at the very least some acknowledgement of his merits was warranted. Tywin never smiled, but he nodded approvingly in Bronn's direction before dismissing him. He then turned to Tyrion's other aide...

"P-P-Private Podrick P-Payne, m-m'lord, reporting f-for duty!" saluted Pod at once, not even waiting for a prompt from his liege lord.

"He's a distant cousin of Ser Ilyn's, I believe," added Tyrion, "we do have another Payne, Ser Cedric, serving as one of the officers in the Regiment."

"I am acutely aware of that," cut in Tywin before addressing Podrick: "so you are the one they say killed Lord Galbart Glover himself?"

"P-p-possibly, m-m'lord!"

"What do you mean by 'possibly'?"

"M-m'lord, I... uh, it m-mighta been m-me, m-mighta been someone else, uh, as well!" stuttered Pod, "It all happened so f-f-fast and there w-was a... a lot goin' on! All I d-did was point me r-rifle at them wolves like we was trained to, 'cos I was afraid... both o' the wolves and the c-c-commissar breathin' down me neck."

"The Rifles' training regimen does lend itself to this kind of mindset," explained Lieutenant Kettleback, clearly taking pride in the fact that he too had taken part in tormenting the lowly soldiery.

Podrick continued: "and th-then I remembered when Lord K-Kovacs o' the Sky-People himself screamed and shouted and threw insults at me in front of His Grace and Her Grace the Queen Mother, and I was just so... _angry!_ I wanted to _kill him_, I really did! And so I closed me eyes and pictured Lord Kovacs there and pulled the trigger, and... the next thing I know, the commissar and me mates was all pattin' me on the back and tellin' me I'd dropped one of the high lords of the North. I wouldn'ta believed it, not in a thousand years! I s'pose I've got Lord Kovacs to thank for that. My lord."

"Hmmm..." observed Ser Kevan, "...well, regardless of what really happened, it still makes for a compelling tale. Certainly the kind that will get the rest of the men's spirits up."

"Aye, the truth is only what the men wish to believe," agreed Tywin, "very well, Private Payne. In recognition of this service you have rendered in the name of His Grace, your King, and the Realm, you are henceforth promoted to rank of Sergeant. May you continue to faithfully serve His Grace King Joffrey of House Baratheon, First Of His Name, in this capacity."

Corporal Amory Lorch was speechless. Private-turned-Sergeant Podrick Payne on the other hand was wide-eyed with joy. "I... uh... my lord! Uh, thank you, my l-lord! I... I dunno what to say! I... I... thank you! Thank you so much! Hail Tywin! Hail Joffrey!"

"Now be gone, Sergeant Payne," cut Tywin, somewhat embarrassed by the lowly trooper's display of gratitude, "we have matters to discuss, matters of war far too important for the likes of the common soldiery to be parley to."

"Sir, yes sir!" chimed Sergeant Payne, who bowed, saluted, and then departed the tent, half-marching, half-skipping with delight. _I'm glad he seems to see the value in it, but it's still only a title_, mused Tyrion, _he'll still be sent with the first wave right into the meat grinder like everyone else_...

"Tyrion," snapped Tywin, "we have... _much_ to discuss."

Without the only two people he trusted now gone, Tyrion felt a lot lonelier now, here in the lion's den, surrounded by men who would gladly see his head on a spike if that meant getting his position at the head of the Rifles. But he quickly reminded himself that he too was a lion, and he was ready to face whatever slings and arrows the rest of the pride had in store for him. "Lord Father," he began, as dignified as he could manage, "I want it to be understood that I am ready to accept all accountability for my actions. The decision was mine and mine alone, and none else should have to pay on my account."

"Yeah, see? I said it was all the wretched Imp's fault!" piped up Ser Lorch, pointing accusingly at Tyrion, "I tried to stop him! I really did! And... and..." Before he could say anything more, Tywin glared at him. Lorch took the hint and shut up.

Tywin turned back to face his son. "I see. Yes, Ser Amory Lorch had quite a thing or two to say about your... leadership style." He raised his eyebrows. "You certainly seem to have a flare for the dramatic. _'You can fall in behind me or be crushed under my heel, but you will NOT stand in my way!'_ ...Goodness, what have you been reading lately?"

"If I remember correctly, father," replied Tyrion, "you once used a similar line to rein in the banners back during the Tarbeck-Reyne Uprising. I felt my situation was perhaps a little similar, so I appropriated the line for my own purposes."

"And so you very publicly dressed down a noble officer, one appointed by Her Grace the Queen-Mother herself," scolded Tywin, "and in doing so not only dis-ingratiated yourself from your fellow highborn, but demeaned their class as a whole in front of the common soldiery, and at a time when the need to enforce discipline amongst them was at its most dire."

"Yeah!" piped up Ser Lorch again, "yeah! You're gonna pay for this now, Imp!"

Tywin touched his right palm to his forehead and shook his head. "_Corporal_ Lorch, kindly do your liege lord a favor and hold your tongue, or you will dine where most other men becoming of your rank belong."

"Father," spoke up Tyrion, "Corporal Lorch's insolence was threatening the cohesion of the entire regiment. I had to make a show of it, so that he and others like him would learn to fall in line. For better or worse."

"Yes, and your conduct in _disobeying_ my orders and _abandoning_ your post at the Trident was no different, I presume?" chastised Lord Tywin.

Tyrion sighed. "I... I did what I had to do... to save you..." he stood up and turned to face the rest of the men at the table, slowly raising his voice, "...to save _all_ of you! None of you heeded my warnings! And for that, Robb Stark nearly killed all of you today! I do not ask of any of you your love or your favor... only that you understand that everything I have done, I have done so in the name of our house, House Lannister of Casterly Rock!"

An awkward silence fell over the table. Tyrion calmly sat back down, now that he had said everything he wanted to say, consequences be damned.

"Father," spoke up Ser Jaime at last, coming to his brother's side, "I... I admit that... well, brother has a point." Tyrion smiled inside: Jaime of course would never admit that it had been his own recklessness and impatience that had nearly caused a disaster today, but the fact that he at least seemed to come to Tyrion's defense was far more than Tyrion could say for anyone else gathered there that night.

The effect was certainly not lost on their father. "That will be enough, Jaime, thank you," he said sternly. "Tyrion, if you were anyone else, at any other time or place, I would not think twice of putting the firing squad on you where you stand. But... you are my son, and at the end of the day, your conduct proved... _useful_ to us after all. I... uh... well..." Tyrion could see that his usually stoic father was struggling with his next words.

"I know father," spoke up Tyrion, "if you wish to have me dismissed from command now that you have your Rifles, I will accept it without complaint."

"No, I have other uses for you," replied Tywin firmly, "you will command the Rifles tomorrow." Ser Amory Lorch and several others were visibly flabbergasted – as was, Tyrion admitted, he too. Tywin continued: "You... you have proven your merits today. Some would even say you showed conduct becoming of a Lannister."

Tyrion was shocked. He honestly did not expect this from his father. Then again, Tywin probably had his own reasons for making this decision, but Tyrion also knew better than to question the closest thing to a reconciliation that he and his father had shared for quite a while now, and especially one made so publicly. Jaime smiled and clapped his brother on the back.

"Thank you, father," said Tyrion, bowing his head respectfully, "it will be my honor to retain command of the King's Rifles until I have seen our mission through to completion."

"Very well," replied Tywin, curtly, regaining his composure. "Just remember this: I only give second chances to those who prove themselves. For the sake of the Seven, _do not disobey me ever again_, or I promise you that you will regret the day you came screaming into this world. Have I made myself understood?" When Tyrion nodded, his father continued: "right, now that this business is settled, perhaps we should focus on where do we go from here. Ser Marbrand, if you would kindly."

"It will be my honor, my liege," replied the heir to Ashemark, before turning to address all at the table: "We are still running the numbers, but at this point, it is fair to say we lost about 4,000 men today in total: about a thousand horse, three thousand foot, and fifteen cannon... the latter mostly to mechanical failures."

"Aye," agreed Tyrion, quasi-apologetically, "the wheels aren't meant for the kinds of speeds and strains we subjected them to on our ride here. We lost about ten that way. Worry not, I had the guns spiked, and all the crews and munitions transferred. With double sized crews, our remaining guns should more than make up the difference in efficiency and performance."

Tywin remained impassive, but some of the other Westerlords nodded their heads in agreement. Ser Addam continued. "The good news is that thanks to the King's Rifles' timely intervention, a complete disaster was averted, and the bulk of our forces remain intact. Our armies united, we now have at our disposal some 33,000 men in total: about 9,500 horse, 23,500 foot, and 45 field guns with crews. More importantly, it appears that the wolves are in fact fewer in number than we had initially feared. We cannot obtain an exact figure, but our scouts have capped it at no more than maybe 25,000 total. Today's skirmishing and counterattack must have cost them at least a thousand dead. They have lost their most prized asset, their element of surprise. Their deviation from the Kingsroad, while innovative and unexpected on our part, was clearly made with the intention of relieving Riverrun, and in that, they have failed. They are outnumbered, demoralized, and caught with their backs against the river. But alas, here is where I recommend the utmost caution, for it is when he is cornered that the wolf is at his most dangerous."

"Then how do you suggest we go about it?" inquired Lord Andros Brax.

"We bide our time," replied Ser Addam, "the wolves have made incredible progress marching as far south as they have, but they have stretched their supply lines. The only Riverlands strongholds of note left are Seagard and the Twins. Now if we can make a pact with the Freys..."

"_If_," reminded Ser Kevan, "what makes you so confident Lord Walder would be so... _hospitable_ to our cause? My own lady sister is his daughter-in-law, and yet he continues to sit on his Double Crossing rather than declare for his rightful king!"

"Yeah, and what about the Vale?" added Ser Forley Prester, "Dragonstone? Highgarden? The longer we wait, the more time we afford these parties to marshal their banners!"

"Lady Lysa Arryn at this moment seems content to sit upon her falcon's nest," spoke up Tywin, "good. Even if she were to decide tomorrow to come avenge her late lord father, it would be at least another month before the Vale Lords are mobilized. Our informants have notified me to the fact that there seems to have been some correspondences recently between her and Dragonstone, though we as yet have not determined the contents of these discourses. As for Lord Walder, well, leave that arrangement to me. Suffice to say, if he continues to exercise this tardiness of his in joining our cause... well, perhaps we should charter a stopover at the Twins so that we may send him our regards." He paused for a moment. "But enough of that for now. Lady Lysa and Lord Walder concern me far less at this present moment than the twenty thousand wolves encamped just five miles from here."

"Agreed, father!" piped up Ser Jaime, "which is why we must strike them now whilst we hold the advantage! Now, while our levies still hunger for blood and conquest! We must not allow these rebel scum to escape back north of the Red Fork, to Seagard or elsewhere!"

"If we can win through simple maneuver, starvation, and delaying tactics, then that would be preferable to attrition," explained Ser Addam, "need I remind you that between Riverrun and today's ambuscade, we've now seen more of our men killed than at the Field Of Fire itself? House Marbrand has already lost over a thousand men at arms and..."

"Do not make the mistake of believing that Ashemark alone is shouldering the costs of this war!" growled the boarish Ser Lyle Crakehall, whose father Lord Roland and a hundred other Crakehall banners had drowned at Riverrun when the siege tower they were manning toppled over into the river due to a mix of the defenders' determination (and some really shoddy construction techniques). "The sooner we catch and skin these miserable wolves alive, the better my late Lord Father will rest at ease!" To make his point, Ser Crakehall finished by slamming his mailed fist into the thick oaken tabletop with a dull **_THUNK_** that sent some of the nearby dinner plates and utensils clinking.

"No, I am with Ser Marbrand on this," spoke up Lord Gawen Westerling, "our house of the Crag is far too small to continue to bear this wanton bloodletting. If we can perhaps end this war now... point out to the Young Wolf the hopelessness of his position, force him to accept our terms and let him return to his ice cave up north whilst we consolidate our newly acquired territorial holdings here in the Riverlands... "

"Traitor!" sneered Ser Jaime, "peace with the wolves? Are you out of your mind?! After their endless treasons and insults to our honor? After all the good men we lost today to the Young Wolf's deception? I will skin that miserable pup alive with mine own two hands if I must! Him and that great hairy monster that rides beside him!"

_Oh boy, this will be good_, thought Tyrion, debating to himself if he should join in the growing controversy before deciding it was perhaps best to let others test the limits of his father's patience.

Sure enough, Tywin was having other ideas. "Enough!" roared the Old Lion, rising to his feet. He was not as physically imposing as some of his gathered bannermen, but everyone shut up at once and listened to him all the same. He continued: "we will offer battle _tomorrow_. If the wolves take it, we will follow through with it. If not, then we will follow Ser Marbrand's stratagem and bleed them dry, over the next year if necessary. Either way, we will crush these traitors and send Winterfell a very clear message. And yes, Lord Westerling, I do most certainly intend to appropriate the vast _living space_ and other spoils the Riverlands have to offer and divvy them up according to each of your contributions to this war effort."

"Father, if I may," spoke Tyrion, "you seem rather confident in our chances, especially in light of... _recent events_."

"I do not make the same mistakes a second time," retorted the Old Lion, narrowing his eyes. "We have more men and more horse, and thanks to the Sky-People and to your dealings with them, we too now have the rifle and the cannon and the radio on our side. Our morale is higher, and their element of surprise is lost. But... you do have a point: these alone may not suffice to guarantee a victory... which is why I have also taken the _necessary precautions_."

"Precautions?" asked Tyrion.

"Appropriate arrangements have been made earlier this evening with... certain people," explained Tywin. Tyrion had a faint suspicion that he knew exactly whom his father spoke of, but did not choose to pursue this curiosity any further, nor did anyone else at the table for that matter. Tywin continued: "tomorrow, when the time is right, certain unforeseen and unfortunate accidents will befall Robb Stark and all of those traitorous lords and nobles of the North who rose up beside him. And the Realm and beyond, even the Sky-People too, will learn once and for all what happens to all those arrogant and impudent enough to think themselves above House Lannister of Casterly Rock!"

"HERE HERE!" roared Ser Gregor Clegane, who had been surprisingly quiet up until now. Perhaps the victories at the Tooth and at Riverrun were finally helping him recover from his figurative castration back at the Hand's Tourney, at the hands of the Iron Lady...

"HAIL TYWIN! HAIL JOFFREY! May the Rock stand ten thousand years!" shouted the rest of the men gathered at the table in unison, all standing up at once and raising their right arms in solemn salutation to their liege lord, to their King, and to the birth of a glorious thousand year reign of lion and stag. Tyrion was not particularly enthusiastic, but he too joined in all the same; if he was going to make good on his claim to the Rock one day, he might as well keep up appearances in the mean time.

The rest of the evening was occupied by the lavish feast that was laid out before the men: five whole suckling pigs roasted, skin seared and crackling, a different fruit in each mouth; black bread freshly baked by the army's bakers; spiced sausages and a cream of mushroom soup; and all washed down by several kegs of the finest wines of the Arbor that Lannister gold could buy. For a man who had spent the better part of the last couple months subsisting off of field rations, Tyrion was in heaven, though he also wondered to himself just how many men and horse were needed just to guard his father's personal larder.

It was late when Tyrion excused himself to retire to his quarters for the night. There, he found his trusted companion the sellsword captain awaiting him. "Sir!" saluted Captain Bronn, smiling, "word 'round camp is that your father has decided _not_ to have you executed for insubordination!"

"Ah, why that's a relief!" replied Tyrion.

"So it's true you get to keep command of the Rifles?" asked Bronn, more seriously now.

Tyrion sighed. "I would not have believed it myself were it not for the fact I suspect father has ulterior motives in making me the spearhead of tomorrow's main assault. Either that, or he was genuinely impressed with how we, you know, singlehandedly saved the entire Army Of The Westerlands from certain annihilation."

"Or some combination of both," added the sellsword captain. "It's a win-win for Tywin. We succeed, the wolves are crushed and he takes our credit for the victory. We fail, well, I s'pose that's one less rival claim to the Rock for his darling golden boy. Sorry to be so frank."

"You wouldn't be the first," muttered Tyrion. "Well then, I guess it's up to us then that whatever happens tomorrow, we'd best make a bloody good show of ourselves." He paused and smiled. "Now, tell me this: we're an army, are we not? Surely we have _camp followers_, have we not? I'm certain at least one of them is somewhat decent. Your next mission is to find her, Captain. If this is my last night on this world, I'd rather like to go out with more than one type of bang."

* * *

_**Footnotes:**_

_1\. "Spiking the guns" was a common practice in 19th century warfare. As previously mentioned, cannons have a "touch hole" which is needed to ignite the powder. By simply hammering a special nail into the hole, thus blocking it, one can render the entire gun useless; this is a quick and useful thing to do if there's a danger that your gun will fall into enemy hands. This is what Tyrion probably did to any cannons that had to be abandoned due to wheels falling off or some other mechanical problem. Given how he force-marched his men to come to Tywin's aid, we shouldn't be surprised if some wagons and cannons were lost along the way in this manner, especially given conditions of roads in Westeros._

_2\. Nevertheless, the loss of several cannons to mechanical difficulties is treated as an acceptable loss because Tyrion mentions that the crews and ammunition from these guns are still intact. Thus far, we have seen it mentioned that the Lannisters employ five-man crews for all of their field artillery. However, while 19th century cannons can be managed by crews that small, they really operate at their most efficient with nine-man crews. Thus, as long as the crews and ammo supplies for the lost guns are transferred to the remaining guns, the Lannister artillery corps will suffer no real drop in performance._


	99. Robb 5

**Robb (V)****  
**  
Probably the worst day in the Young Wolf's young life, as far as he could remember, was the day he found out that in spite of all of his efforts, in spite of everything, he had failed to save Riverrun. His own birthplace had fallen, the ancestral home of his mother, and of the uncle and grandfather he had lost because while he had moved quickly, he just hadn't moved quickly enough.

That had been just several days ago. But today seemed almost as bad. All of his cunning strategy, his tireless study of the Sky-People and their histories, his investments in new technologies, his careful maneuvers and deception... all for naught. Robb felt like all he could do now was sit at his place at the table that night, Grey Wind curled up and asleep around his feet, and stare on in silence as the others debated what to do. He didn't feel like a proud general anymore... more like the boy he had been only a year earlier, still playing with wooden swords in the bailey of Winterfell with his half-brother (no, his _cousin_) Jon...

"How many have we lost?" asked his father Ned, taking charge of the situation, addressing the other lords and staff gathered around the folding table set up here in the main command tent.

"About a thousand men in total," replied Lieutenant Hallis Mollen, going over the figures, "roughly 400 dead and 600 injured, including Lord Galbart Glover himself. His brother Colonel Robbett has taken command of the Deepwood Motte Regiment. He's at the infirmary tent right now, helping tend to his brother."

"I pray for his recovery," said Ned, somberly, "Lord Galbart is a good man and a dear friend." Robb did too. Losing his carefully laid ambush thanks to some ruse by the Imp already pained enough; losing Lord Glover too, one of the first banners to loyally answer Winterfell's call to join the First Army... now that was just rubbing salt into the wound.

"As do I, sir," said Mollen, "the good news is that it was our spears who bore the brunt of it; all our rifle units and all of our guns and crews managed to withdraw in good order and remain intact."

"_All_ of the guns?" inquired Ned.

"All the ones still operable, yes," replied Mollen, "we're not able to repair five of them, so I've had the crews and munitions transferred to our remaining ones."

"And what about the ones I captured today?" asked Robb's great uncle, Lord Brynden Tully, the Blackfish himself and now Lord of Riverrun (though in name only at the present). "What of these dozen or so the lions abandoned? Are any of them useful to our cause?"

"No, sorry sir," replied Mollen, "all spiked by their crews, and it'll take us a while for the smiths to drill new holes. For now, we'll have to make do with 65."

"65 guns will still deliver a fair share of pain," chimed in Lord Roose Bolton, almost half smiling, "tell me, how many of the lions and stags did we drop today?"

"Sir, it's hard to get a solid figure, but best guesses right now are that we costed the lions at least four men to every one of ours." Lieutenant Mollen paused and cast a glance over at where Robb was still brooding in the corner. "I... must say, Imp's counterattack or not, it was a solid ambush."

"Then we should have pressed on with the attack when we had the chance to!" boomed the Greatjon of House Umber. "We 'ad the lions on the run! You shoulda left the Imp to me, and made for the Old Lion himself!"

"Aye, a decision easily made with hindsight on one's side," replied Ned, calmly, "we had no way of knowing Lord Tyrion's counterattack was little more than a cunning ruse meant to throw us off. Breaking off the attack was the safer option, at least until we could reevaluate our position and their strength. Retreat and defeat are not always one and the same."

"The fault is mine to bear," spoke the Blackfish, "my scouts should have alerted us to the truth of the matter." Robb had always admired his great-uncle, had heard the tales and what not, but even he could see that the burden of being the last of House Tully, of having to have fought the lions non-stop for months now, of having seen Riverrun fall with his own eyes, was starting to wear away at him.

"The fault is ours collectively," said Ned, "we needed you and your riders to spearhead the ambush, not watching our backs. None of us could have foreseen how Lord Tyrion could have force-marched his forces here so quickly."

"Aye, but the Greatjon here has a point," spoke up Lord Rickard Karstark, the frustration palpable in his voice, "divided, we had a chance. But now Lord Tywin's armies are united, and he has nearly as many rifles and cannons as we do. I didn't leave Karhold all those months ago with my finest banners in tow, subject ourselves to all these months of training and retraining and marching... just to flee at the first sight of danger!"

"If a retreat is necessary, House Mallister is prepared to offer you all safe haven," spoke up Lord Jason Mallister, trying to mediate the situation, "we'll turn the entire countryside between here and Seagard into a death trap for the lions if we must. Perhaps the Eyrie, Dragonstone, and Highgarden too will have mobilized in that time, and given Ol' Tywin something else to chew on."

_Retreat? Now?,_ thought Robb, _after all we have done to get this far? No!_ He closed his eyes. _C'mon, snap yourself out of it! Think, Robb, think! What would Alexander or Napoleon do?_ At his feet, Grey Wind began to stir. He looked down, and gazed into those yellow eyes, teeth still red from the blood of all those men and horses he had torn apart today. He didn't know why, but there was something about having Grey Wind by his side that always gave him hope when all else was gone, gave him the strength to carry on...

Robb rose to his feet and stood up beside his father. Grey Wind rose too and barked, getting the attention of all. All eyes now turned to him, he declared solemnly: "Thank you, Lord Mallister, your offer is generous, but it will not be needed. No. There will be no retreat. For better or for worse, the war for the Riverlands will end _here_."

"Ack, back from the dead, are we?" chuckled the Greatjon, smiling.

Ned said nothing, only looking at his son eye to eye for a moment. Then, he nodded his head in approval, and turned to face the Lieutenant. "Mollen! What are our available forces again?"

"Sir!" replied Mollen, "with the exception of the Glover Regiment, most of the First Army is intact, 14,500 infantry, 4,000 cavalry, and two artillery brigades. The only things we really lost today were Lord Galbart, and our advantage of surprise."

"There aren't much o' us left, and we took our share of the damage today," began the Blackfish, "but know this: whatever you decide, you can count on all of House Tully and Mallister to ride with you."

"Then that brings our totals to about 22,000 men," commented Lieutenant Mollen, "the lions will still outnumber us three-to-two, especially in terms of cavalry. Bear this in mind if you do intend to make battle upon these flat, open lands. Sir."

"Then I advocate that we press for a nighttime attack," suggested Lord Bolton, "now, whilst they still lick their wounds from today's action."

_And I would too... if I were Roose Bolton_, mused Robb to himself. "No, they will be expecting that. The fields between here and there are crawling with their scouts... some with the radio. In the time it takes us to close the distance, they'll have raised the alarm." He paused before continuing, mainly for dramatic effect. "I say we let our men rest tonight, for tomorrow, we weather the storm... a Storm Of Swords! And of shot and shell as well."

The discussions continued a while longer as final plans were made, drawn up, then torn apart and discussed anew – plans on who should command what and where and how the men should be deployed best to maximize the shock value of the artillery and riflery whilst at the same time minimizing their exposure to the Lannisters' ten thousand or so horse. Robb found it soothing somewhat to focus his mind on the task at hand, but all the same, he still couldn't shake that feeling of despair at how he could have let Riverrun fall and his ambush fail. At long last, the final orders were passed around, and everyone was dismissed to their quarters for the night. A big day was ahead of them all tomorrow...

"You've carried yourself well so far," spoke Ned as the last of the staff left, leaving the two Starks of Winterfell alone. "The chains of command are not an easy burden to bear, especially not at your age."

Robb sunk back down into his chair and stared at Grey Wind. He'd tried to present a firm face to the command staff, but something had been eating away at the back of his mind this whole time, and that he needed to share with someone he could trust. "Father," he whispered slowly, "what did I do wrong?"

"Robb, you are far too hard on yourself. You have done more in six months than most lords achieve in their whole lives."

"And yet it wasn't enough!" he blurted out, "I studied all the great ones who came before me: Alexander and Hannibal, Caesar and Napoleon and all the others too... I've learnt all I could, have tried to copy every idea that works and discard all that don't."

"But you are not Alexander or Napoleon," said Ned, calmly, "you are Robb Stark. You are my son. Stop trying to pretend you are someone else, thinking that true nobility comes only from measuring your accomplishments against theirs. Be your own man, forge your own path, write your own tale and sing your own song, not that of others. You have learnt much, but there is still much left to learn... even for a man like me."

For a few minutes, father and son said nothing, but just sat down in silence and contemplation. Finally, Robb spoke: "I... don't know what I would do without you, father."

"You will one day," replied Ned, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, "if it helps, perhaps I was wrong to voice my disapproval for everything you have done in my absence. Thanks to you, Lord Kovacs and Lady Venya came to snatch me and your sister Arya from right out of the lions' claws. Thanks to you, we had an army trained and ready to march the very moment I was betrayed down in the capital. But this is not the end of it, far from it. All I ask of you now, my son, is this: whatever fate may befall either of us, that you may always keep your head when all others around you are losing theirs and blaming it on you; that you trust yourself when all others doubt you, but make allowance for their doubting too. Now you had best get some rest; you will need it."

Robb embraced his father tightly.

* * *

That night, he slept deeply but not peacefully at all. He dreamt he was Grey Wind, or at he thought it must have been Grey Wind; a great beast that walked the earth on all fours, sheathed in smoke grey fur, with long teeth of metal, shiny and chrome. He strode along the great plains of ice and frost, and looked around him. A great battle was being fought, as all around him danced thousands and thousands of twisted and monstrous human forms, all locked in their individual duels against others. It was less an organized battle between two recognizable sides, and more a confused free for all melee. As if on instinct, he bit and growled and tore his way across the battlefield, ripping apart all who stood in his way.

There were men and women there, in every kind of clothing and armor and wielding every type of weapon he had ever seen or heard about, including some he'd only ever seen in the books and moving pictures of the Sky-People: what appeared to be Westerosi knights, bearing every banner and sigil he could recall and some he had never seen before; Wildling spearwives, Dothraki screamers and Unsullied spearmen, all stabbing and cutting away at each others; there were also Spartan hoplites, their red capes billowing around them as they flew through the air in slow motion; Roman legionaries advancing in disciplined lines, while French grenadiers and British redcoats shot at each other with muskets and stabbed at each other with bayonets. He even recognized the "Mark 7 Ballistics Armor" and heard the clattering away of the "Stacker Assault Rifles" of the UNCDF Colonial Marines, and even a couple of those gigantic walking armors the Sky-People called "HULK units", spewing streams of glowing hot starfire and melting everything around them.

And there were other forms he did not recognize: tall and thin and inhumanely beautiful creatures, lithe and adorned in shining armor, as they fought against others covered in black clothing and horrible spikes. Hulking brutes, green in color, smashed their way through the crowd with axes and warhammers, screaming the most incomprehensible gibberish. Skeletons of polished steel shambled slowly across the land, their terrible glass eyes aglow, carrying what looked like fire-arms that shot glowing purple bolts of light and heat.

The skies above came alive with a brilliant tornado of white and red, a dance of ice and fire, neither day nor night, and the gale-force wind howled and howled as if the gods themselves were both laughing and wailing at the carnage below them. And then they appeared: falcon-ships of white and black metal, screaming through the sky as they spat bolts of light from their noses and released bombs from their iron claws onto the great throng below. And then before his eyes, the metal birds twisted and contorted themselves into... dragons! There were three of them: one black, one white, and one red. The middle one of the three came to rest upon the ground before him, except it wasn't a dragon now anymore, but a woman with great black wings sprouting from her back... like the Valkyries themselves from some old Sky-People faith of long ago. She held out her hand to him, and as he reared back on his hindlegs to reach up to her, he could hear her singing to him...

_Mine eyes have seen the glory of the rising of the North,  
His Winds Of Winter howl through where the grapes of wrath are stored,  
They hath loosed the frost and thunder of His terrible icy sword,  
And winter marcheth forth!  
_

_Glory, glory, winter is coming!  
Glory, glory, winter is coming!  
Glory, glory, winter is coming,  
The King of Winter marcheth forth!_

_I have seen Him in the swells and swirls of a thousand winter storms_  
_His legacy lives on across this land of mine and yours,_  
_His pride and honor endures through the years of endless wars_  
_And winter marcheth forth!_

_Glory, glory, winter is coming!_  
_Glory, glory, winter is coming!_  
_Glory, glory, winter is coming!_  
_THE KING OF WINTER MARCHETH FORTH!_

Robb was still wondering to himself what it all meant – whom this "King Of Winter" was, and where had he seen the faces on these Valkyries before – when his father shook him awake the next morning. The sun hadn't even broken the horizon, and yet the camp was already abuzz as thousands of men emerged from their tents in full kit, extinguished their campfires, assembled into formation, and marched out through the gates of the camp, ready to meet their worthy opponents on the field of swords...

* * *

_**Footnotes:**_

_Robb's acid-trippy "War Dream" sequence was inspired by the painting "The Battle Of Alexander At Issus" by German Renaissance painter Albrecht Altdorfer, except with some images and ideas from across history, the ASOIAF mythology, and other pop culture as well all thrown into the mix. I'll leave it to your imaginations as to what exactly the images are meant to represent and/or foreshadow..._


	100. Daenerys 3

_**Foreword**: and now for a brief breather from the main action. Thanks again for the reviews._

* * *

**Daenerys (III)  
**

Westeros. What a strange place. Daenerys was this land's rightful queen, the last of the Targaryens and of the blood of Old Valyria, and yet this fabled land now felt more alien to her than any of the Free Cities, or even Vaes Dothrak and the open prairies of the Dothraki Sea for that matter.

Of course, perhaps a large part of that had to do with the strangeness of the people that now inhabited it – the people who had descended upon this land from the skies above, riding those great flying ships of black and white metal. They were few in number, but already the impact they were having on the Realm was profound, and they shown no signs of slowing down. _Almost like my great ancestor, Aegon The Conqueror_, she thought to herself.

At that moment, Dany and her handmaiden Irri were with two of them right now, the ones named Niall Donnelly and Kelly Adams, seated in the back of one of those horseless carriages as it sped along the long, straight road, far faster and yet smoother at the same time than any other form of wheeled transportation she had ever ridden before.

She looked all around her. The great forests of weirwoods and pines quickly gave way to the vast and open flats. The North was supposedly the emptiest of all the Seven Kingdoms, and yet here the road was actually decently well populated to rival any of the Old Valyrian roads that Daeny had traversed before in Essos. All along the road could be found a mix of traffic: ox-carts, pedestrians on foot, and a half dozen of those larger horseless carriages called "trucks", all plying the new trade route between the Sky-People's new but ever growing stronghold of Autumn's Frontier, and House Stark's ancient seat at Winterfell.

"How're ya holdin' up back there, yer majesteh?" spoke up Niall, smiling cheerfully, as he sat in one of the two front seats, operating the vehicle through some mechanical means that Dany did not fully understand the workings of, but was impressed by it all the same. She heard that Niall came from a Sky-People kingdom called "Scotland", and yet his accent seemed right at home amongst some of the Northmen.

"Cart that moves without horse is very fast!" remarked her handmaiden, Irri, wide-eyed. Dany could not blame her for her wonderment, especially coming from a culture where the horse as the symbol of power was so deeply ingrained.

"Wild Cat Light Utility Vehicle," explained Kelly with a hint of pride in her voice, "American engineering at its finest! Titanium-iridium hyperalloy chassis... 44-inch nano-reinforced composite tires... 900 horsepower Electric Synchronous Motor... they're actually manufactured by Atlas Corp, one of our competitors, but hey, they're pretty sturdy and reliable as anything. We're just borrowing this one from the UNCDF for the day."

Dany was desperately trying to make sense of anything this platinum blonde American woman was saying, but she smiled politely back all the same. The Sky-People were nothing if not always polite and gracious to her, and she was allowed free reign to move about the colony and explore its innumerable wonders, or to watch whatever moving pictures she wanted, or to read whatever books she so chose. But all the same, as with Magister Illyrio of Pentos, she realized they must have had ulterior motives behind their hospitality. She had not tried to leave yet; she wasn't sure if the Sky-People would allow her to, and even if she did, where could she possibly go? For better or for worse, Dany realized, especially heavily pregnant as she was, the child within her growing and paining her every week... staying under the protection of these foreigners was perhaps the safest course of action for now.

She decided to quickly change the subject: "my apologies, Ser Donnelly and Lady Adams, but is Ser Jorah not joining us today?"

"Eh, we figured best not to bring him, given his historeh with the Starks," replied the fiery red-haired Scotsman, "Robb pardoned him, sure, but that doesn't mean things'll be over just like that! That, and this whole succession issue over Bear Island that his return raises and whatnot."

"In any case," added Kelly, "Mr. Mormont mentioned that he wanted to see Sergeant Hawthorne today about something. I guess it might be something to do with his dad who lives up at the Wall. I dunno, he might even be joining the Wolves."

"You both seem quite knowledgable in the politics of the North," observed Dany, politely.

"Thank you, m'lady," replied Niall, "well, we do live 'ere! At least 'til our contract expires. After that, I dunno, I guess we either transfer back to Earth, or to one o' the other colonies in the system, or maybe even settle down 'ere while the real estate market is good." He winked at Kelly, who smiled back.

"So... Ser Donnelly... Lady Adams..." began Dany, "the two of you are... _betrothed_?"

The two Sky-People laughed together. "Och, it's time alreadeh?" chuckled Niall, "so soon? We only been officially datin' 'bout two months!"

"_Dating_?" asked Dany, confused.

"You see, the way things work on Earth are a little different from your world," explained Kelly, "for starters, we don't do arranged marriages. People are free to marry whoever they want! Well, in _civilized_ countries anyway. The laws are different between nations, but generally, a man and woman can marry each other (or hell, even a man and a man, or a woman and a woman) so long as they consent to each another, and so long as they're sixteen or over, and so long as they're not doing it while intoxicated or under duress and some other legalities like that..."

"So to put it in short," concluded Niall, "uh, 'dating' is how a man and a woman (or two men or two women if ya swing that way) get to know one another, y'know, get to hang out an' see if they like each other before they make the commitment. Courtship, basically. O' course, most marriages on Earth still end in divorce anyway..."

She was so confused. So the Sky-People are free to marry whoever they want? Regardless of blood lines or social standing? Regardless of their parents' wishes? A man could even marry... _another man?_ Or a woman to another woman? But that made no sense! How would they bear children then? How did they keep their blood lines going? _These Sky-People are crazy_, she thought to herself.

"So..." she hazarded to ask at last, "...is that why you're going to Winterfell today? On a, uh, _date_?"

"Well, yes n' no," replied Niall, "we've got some business over there today, an' we just thought we'd take you along too since you'd never been outta the colony fer a while. Poor thing, ya must be bored outta yer mind! But otherwise... yeah, totalleh!"

"That and unfortunately, the colony's a little bereft of any decently interesting places to go, as you may have noticed," added Kelly, "we've just got the one pub and bar open right now, and the only other interesting place around there is Outpost B."

"Yeh, where we almost got, y'know, eaten by zombehs!" added Niall.

Kelly continued: "besides, we already spend enough time there during the regular work week, working on Fred and Daniel's little science fair project."

Dany wondered what was it that Lord Kovacs and Ser Zimmerman and Lady Vaenya were up to these days. Well, that, and she also wondered why was it that a Sky-man and a Sky-woman felt the need to supplement their mating rituals with the visitation of places they deemed to be "interesting". After all, the first time her Sun And Stars had made love to her was on some simple grassy knoll beside a small stream. And every time after that, hard or gentle, was usually inside Drogo's teepee, or else just out in the open, in front of the rest of the Khalassar. Yeah, the Dothraki in general, and Drogo in particular, were not especially known for modesty or privacy...

And in any case, she quietly disagreed with Kelly; whatever else she may have been, she certainly never had a dull moment with the Sky-People. Autumn's Frontier was a source of endless fascination! Just watching the "moving pictures" and reading some of those books they had been nice enough to give, just those alone had opened up a new universe before her very eyes. And there was something eternally fascinating too about just going about and watching them at work: seeing the giant metal armors walking about, like the one Ser Digby wore, or those great machines that ate away at the earth faster than ten thousand miners ever could, or that one enormous dragon-ship they called "the Valkyrie" that came and went every week or so.

Perhaps it was her curiosity into these strange people and their strange ways that somewhat endeared them to her. Perhaps it was the way they were always nice and gentle to her. And perhaps it was the way she was scared of them too, terrified of the frightening power they wielded in their hands... whether it was in their warriors like Lady Vaenya and Lord Kovacs, who had effortlessly carved a path of destruction across an entire Khalassar like it was naught but thin air, or later on in the tales she heard of their legendary "Battle Of Outpost B".

"Please do remind me," she piped up, "what is the business you have with Lady Stark today?"

"Nothing major," answered Kelly, "just a side project. We've been working Mayor Mollen to introduce electrification to the North. We'll start with just the castle today, just a trial run, before we start electrifying the town as well. We already sent the equipment a few days back; Niall's just completing the setup."

"_Ehlektrisitee?_" asked Irri, "so, flameless white light, yes?"

"Yeah!" chimed Niall, "nuclear fusion like what we 'ave at the colony is out o' the question, and while the North has coal n' oil aplenty, Ned didn't seem too enthused over it. To be honest, I don't think any o' the greenies back home would either. So we're starting simple: installing solar panels."

Kelly continued: "we thought about installing a wind turbine too, except that given how dependent this whole area will be on avian-based forms of telecommunication, at least until everywhere on Westeros gets the radio, we figured not to create one more hazard for the poor corvids, lest one of them is carrying something important. Winterfell also sits on a geologically interesting area, with natural hot springs and whatnot, so we're experimenting with geothermal energy in the future."

The "Wild Cat" plowed on down the road and across the open fens and moors of the North. It was now November, and Dany had grown quite heavy with child. According to the kindly lady at the hospital, the Summer Islander named "Doctor Chakwas", she was expecting sometime in January. It was starting to grow cumbersome and painful, and there was still the birthing itself at the end of it all, but she bore with it all the same. It was the last small vestige of her Sun And Stars she carried within her.

Lord Kovacs had offered to adopt the child, to pay for schooling and this thing called a "university", but Dany right now didn't know what she wanted, only that she'd be damned if she ever let her baby out of her love and protection. And whatever the Sky-People intended to do to her, even if not all of them were as nice and friendly as Niall and Kelly, she decided she was going to endure it bravely, just like that first night with Drogo all those months ago. She was the Last Dragon, and the Dragon was never afraid.

Well... actually, no, that wasn't quite true. There was another Dragon...

"If it is no problem to ask," she began, "may I ask what will become of my... _nephew?_ Rhaegar's son? Since the Usurper is dead and his heir is false... does that mean you plan to make him... king?"

Niall chuckled. "Ha-ha! Sergeant Snow as King? Now there's an idea!"

"The thing is," explained Kelly, "we're technically not supposed to intervene in local politics, at least not directly. We even have a big hearing with the UN scheduled about a month from now or so. I guess this whole civil war business will inevitably come up, and the UN will have to decide to support someone's claim if they don't want this planet going to hell like the others."

_Wait, the Sky-People aren't even allowed to take a side in this war?,_ wondered Daenerys to herself. _Who is this 'UN' that even 'The Company' fears? If they do not serve the Usurper, and if they do not plan to make me queen, then why did they take me away from the Khalassar? These Sky-People must be crazy._

Niall continued: "in any case, we can't have Snow and his buddies runnin' off to play some game o' thrones just like that, can we? We've got a colony that needs protectin', and Hawthorne's Marines could be transferred to one o' the other colonies any one o' these days now!"

Just as impressive a warrior as Lady Vaenya, Daeny supposed, was this Ser Nathan Hawthorne, the knight commander of the Sky-People and the bannermen that came from their world, their "Colonial Marines". She had not seen the man in battle, but just meeting him in person, one certainly got the sense that this was a knight if she had ever met one; even Ser Jorah was impressed by the man. That, and she had heard too the tales and songs that were going around about this great battle against the White Walkers; of how Ser Hawthorne heroically dueled one of the monsters and then stabbed it to death, or of how Ser Manfredi killed a dozen giants from afar with the sorcery of this so-called "anti-materiel rifle", or how even an unassuming face like Ser Digby's could deliver such death when enclosed within that great hulking armor of his, and how the whole battle ended when Ser McConaughey and Lady Conran arrived riding on the backs of falcon-ships, spewing flame and divine light upon the enemy like Aegon once did at the Field Of Fire...

But there was something else that was puzzling the back of her mind as well. She asked quietly: "these _other worlds_ of yours... what are they like?"

Niall frowned. "Well, last we 'eard from Teller n' co over on L5, Mordor's on the move with an army 'bout a half-million strong or somethin'. We only got Rico's and Harris' squads stationed there right now! Shit, if only the UN just gave us the permission to bring out the damn orbital kinetic strikes alreadeh..."

"Orbitaal kinetik stryk?" asked Irri, confused.

"Oh yah!" said Niall, "just drop one and _boom_! That'll end them beasties real good! Like a nuke, but much cleaner! Too bad, them bloodeh politicians back on Earth don't want us usin' 'em as anythin' other than an absolute last resort. Damn peaceniks!"

Dany didn't know what was more unbelievable, that the Sky-People had weapons that could wreak such destruction, or that they had the remarkable self-restraint not to use these more often. Then again, her own illustrious ancestor once conquered a whole continent with three dragons, and these Sky-People commanded sorceries greater than anything that must have existed in Old Valyria, if the moving pictures she saw were any indication...

"And then there's this business that Django and Saito are up to on L-Zero," continued Kelly, "with all this Chaos and those Dark Elves and the,... uh, Skabbies, right? Those are the goatlike ones?"

Niall shook his head. "No, no, yer gettin' 'em all confused, Kelleh. _Skaven_ are the ratlike ones; it's the _Beastmen_ yer thinkin' of! Trust me, I know. One o' me buddies, Raunchel, you know her right? She runs the bio labs over on L-Zero; they've done quite a few dissections on 'em, and also on a few o' 'em Orcs an' Elves to see if there's any relation with the ones on L5. What? Oh, no, don't worry, they only dissected the evil ones, the Dark Elves... those were the only ones we captured in large enough numbers."

"I dunno if dissecting a sapient life form is ever morally the right thing to do," remarked Kelly, glumly.

"Trust me Kelleh, you totalleh would if ya'd 'eard some o' the stuff these Dark Elves get up to," said Niall, ominously. "Shit. Now that I think 'bout it, even with the 'Walkers and this whole civil war business goin' on down south... this is still the most peaceful planet!"

Dany was confused and possibly horrified too by all she was hearing, this business about giant rats and goatlike men and these elves so cruel as to make even the White Walkers appear benign by comparison...

Up ahead there was smoke on the horizon. She thought it was a fire at first, until they got closer and she could see that the smoke was arising from a pair of the tallest chimneys she had ever seen; according to her guides, this was the town's new "coal-fired steelworks". Winter Town was small compared to any of the Free Cities like Pentos, but somehow, it seemed just as busy as any of them, such was the great throng of people who crowded its streets and markets, people of all walks of life, including even, she recognized, a few Free City merchants here to see and buy for themselves the wonders from beyond the skies.

The "Wild Cat" drove around the city limits, and then right up to the gates of Winterfell itself. As they arrived inside the castle bailey, the vehicle screeched to a halt, and everyone disembarked. Dany herself, heavily pregnant as she was, needed a bit of a helping hand, as the horseless carriage had a very high ground clearance. It was almost more arduous than dismounting a horse.

As they disembarked, they were greeted by a small welcoming party, the leaders of whom, she noticed, were clearly Northmen, but wore clothing that represented some mix of traditional Westerosi attire, and some of the new fashions of the foreigners. He greeted the two Sky-People first, before turning to Dany and her handmaiden. "Lady Targaryen, I am Lord Mayor Daryl Mollen, it's a pleasure to meet you," he began, bowing slightly, "this is my wife, Lady Aelyzabyth."

After Dany had returned the pleasantries, the Lord Mayor turned back to face Niall. "Lady Stark is in the Godswood at present – praying for her lord husband and eldest son, I would imagine, and for the lives of her late lord father and brother. She usually keeps the Faith Of The Seven, but I suppose we all live in rather interesting times these days. Where are Lord Kovacs and Lady Vaenya, if I may ask?"

"Oh, uh, busy with something back at the colony," replied Niall.

"Lord husband," chimed in the Mayor's wife, "perhaps I may take Ladies Targaryen and Adams to see Lady Stark whilst you men are at it with your toys?"

Within minutes, Lady Aelyzabyth had led the three guests to Winterfell's Godswood. Dany had never been to one before, but this one was definitely... _different_ from what she had imagined – all dark and gloomy, and not at all like the bright and cheerful ones she had heard about that one could find in, say, the Red Keep her brother used to drone on and on about. She supposed this was a by-product of the Northmen's keeping of the Old Gods. In any case, sure enough, Lady Catelyn Stark was found there, sitting by herself by the pool in the shade of the ancient heart tree, deep in contemplation. After initial greetings and formalities were exchanged between the hostess and her three visitors, she then requested that she be left alone... with Daenerys. Evidently, she had something she wanted to speak with her about.

Dany had heard the tale told a thousand times before by her brother Viserys and others who had remained loyal to her House. To have finally met the Usurper's Dog himself, Ned Stark, and to have finally have heard a different version of the tale her brother had oft-repeated, had been a bit of a shock and revelation to her. But no matter what version of the events she heard, some facts remained unchanged: her late Royal Father had once put Catelyn's betrothed, Eddard's elder brother, to death, and all because of a tragic misunderstanding of how his sister had run off with her brother Rhaegar.

"Lady Stark," she began as soon as they were alone, "I am most humbly grateful to your family for having graciously welcomed me back to the Realm, though I know of the bad blood that exists between our houses. Your Lord Husband is a most humble and honorable man. And though I am yet to meet him, I am told your firstborn is quite the cunning and charismatic leader. Perhaps now, with the Usurper dead, his heir proven false, the lions turned against you, and the truth of my nephew out... perhaps our families may at last find peace with one another."

"Thank you," sighed Lady Stark, "I too should be grateful. Your... _nephew_ saved my little Brandon once from those traitorous lions. It was horrid! I was there when it happened and... and..."

Dany was young, but even she could recognize it in Lady Stark's eyes how she could just not bring herself to admit that she was both ashamed of all the years she had mistreated Jon, never knowing the truth of his parentage, and angered at her lord husband for having hidden it from her. She was struggling to find her next words, so Daenerys spoke first: "Lady Stark, I am equally indebted to your lord husband for having shielded my brother's last surviving son all these years from the Usurper. I understand that it was a great cause of contention between the two of you."

"Then we shall call it even and speak no more of this," spoke Catelyn, abruptly.

"If you do not mind me asking," began Dany, hoping to change the subject, "where are your lord husband and your eldest son at the moment?"

Catelyn turned her head towards the heart tree, trying to avoid Dany's eyes. She could still see the tears in her eyes, hear the underlying anguish and distress in her voice. "Everything has gone from bad to worse. First my... my brother Edmure... he was slain by the Old Lion at the Golden Tooth. And now my lord father too has joined him. My uncle and... what little remains of my house has fled to join the First Army Of The North and... they have cornered Tywin's army. There... there could be a battle any day now."

_Tywin Lannister_. Yes, Dany knew the name alright: that vile traitor who had once been close to her father, only to turn on him, to have his own son stab her father to death, while his monstrous banner Clegane defiled Rhaegar's wife Elia and dashed young Aegon's head to a pulp, and Ser Lorch stabbed the young Princess Rhaenys some half-a-hundred times. And sure enough, just as the lions had betrayed her own family once, so too had they now betrayed the Starks as well... how that horrid Kingslayer had tried to mete out the same treatment on Ned Stark himself, or how the traitorous Old Lion had now lain waste to the Riverlands and put Lady Catelyn's own brother and father to the sword. At least there was something the two of them found some common ground on.

"I am so sorry for your loss, Lady Stark."

"Thank you, child," replied the Lady Of Winterfell. For a moment, the two of them said nothing, but sat in silence, taking in the peace and solace that the Godswood had to offer. A few minutes seemed to have passed before she spoke again. "We... we would be honored if you would perhaps join us for tea. I will be entertaining some of the girls from the Academy this afternoon."

"I would be delighted, thank you Lady Stark." With that, Dany politely excused herself, and went off to find Irri.

It would still be a couple hours, so she and her handmaiden took the opportunity to explore the castle. It was not long before they came across another sight that caught her curiosity: in one of the courtyards, there was a young boy training in fencing, instructed in the martial arts by a man Dany recognized to be Braavosi, judging from the accent. She and Irri moved in for a closer look... and suddenly found themselves staring face to face with the largest dog she had ever seen...

"Don't worry, she won't bite!" cried the boy with a voice that made Dany realize that the budding young fencer was actually a girl.

"Okay..." muttered Dany, "what a... uh... beautiful... uh, _dog_, you have. What's her name?"

"Nym..." began the girl before she paused, sighed, and corrected herself, "...Lady. Yes, her name is Lady."

"Lady," repeated Daenerys to herself as she petted the creature on the head. In spite of her great size, she actually had quite the gentle demeanor. "What a lovely name. And what is your name?"

"No one," replied the girl, "I am No One!"

She paused, and then burst out laughing. "Just kidding, it's Arya, man!"


	101. Timeline 7

**TIMELINE 7: The Riverlands Campaign**

**Day184: Oct21  
Crossroads Near The Trident River, Riverlands**  
+The Army Of The Crownlands arrives after a plodding 30-day march from King's Landing. The march was much slower than the armies of both the North and the Westerlands due to inexperience and poor training, as well as stopping frequently to pick up additional reinforcements along the way from a number of Crownlands Houses sworn to Joffrey. By the time Colonel Tyrion's forces arrive at Lord Harroway's Town, the unit has grown to some 6,000 men in total, including 2,000 Crownlands cavalry. Together with Tywin's host marching on Riverrun, this gives the Lannisters a total military strength of 45,000 troops: 11,000 cavalry, 34,000 infantry (incl. 2,000 rifles), and 60 pieces of field artillery plus crews.

**Day191: Oct28  
Riverrun, Riverlands  
**+The Siege Of Riverrun begins as Tywin's advance forces descend on the castle. In spite of heavy skirmishing and raiding by Ser Brynden Tully, the Lannisters are nonetheless able to advance and encircle the castle. Brynden is forced to divide his available forces in two: 4,000 men remain inside the castle under the command of Lord Tytos Blackwood, while 3,000 men remain outside under Brynden's command, and continue to raid and harass Tywin's army.

**Day192: Oct29  
Riverrun  
**+The Siege Of Riverrun proper begins as the rest of Tywin's army arrives and begins construction on a series of camp and siegeworks surrounding the stronghold, as well as a frightening array of siege engines, including trebuchets and floating siege towers.

**Day193: Oct30  
The Twins, Riverlands  
**+The First Army Of The North bypasses The Twins and continues marching south along the Kingsroad. Lady Genna Lannister reports this to her brother.

**Day195: Nov01  
Ruby Ford, The Trident River, Riverlands**  
+Col. Tyrion receives orders from his father (via courier) to send artillery to assist in the Siege Of Riverrun, as well as at least one radio to ease communications between the two armies. Tyrion is at first reluctant to comply, as his force is already severely outnumbered against a Northern army he suspects may number as many as 30,000 strong. He reluctantly complies, but begins to reassess his position guarding the Trident. He also begins sending small scout parties up and down the Kingsroad to report on the First Army's progress. At least two of these parties are equipped with a radio.

**Day203: Nov09  
The Green Fork River, approx. halfway between The Twins and The Trident**  
+After a ten-day march from The Twins, the First Army arrives at the intended crossing of the Green Fork and begins setting up a pontoon bridge using several pre-prepared pontoons (mostly modified boats donated by House Manderly) that the army had brought along on wagons. Robb also orders that any river traffic up and down the Green Fork be intercepted and commandeered, both so as to appropriate their boats to strengthen the pontoon bridge, and so that these travelers do not report on the First Army's activities further downriver.  
+Robb, meanwhile, sends a small raiding party of a hundred cavalry riders or so down the Kingsroad in the hopes of fooling Tyrion that these are the First Army's advance riders and that the First Army is still on the Kingsroad.

**Day204: Nov10  
The Green Fork River  
**+The First Army completes its crossing of the Green Fork and the bridge is disassembled. The army begins the 60-mile march to Fairmarket.

**Day206: Nov12  
Along the Kingsroad, Riverlands**  
+A skirmish breaks out between Tyrion's scouts and Robb's decoy force, although casualties are light (only a dozen on each side). The captain reports the incident to Colonel Tyrion via radio.  
**Ruby Ford  
**+Col. Tyrion Lannister receives the report and finds it confusing, as he had expected a larger force. Tyrion begins to suspect that Robb may not be marching south along the Kingsroad after all, and even if he were, 5,000 men cannot hold the Ford against 30,000. Tyrion makes the unilateral decision to fall back and regroup with Tywin's main host.

**Day208: Nov14  
Fairmarket, Riverlands  
**+Having left the Kingsroad, the First Army arrives at Fairmarket after a 4 day march along backcountry paths. Lord Jason Mallister is present and waiting there, along with 500 cavalry, 1,500 infantry, as well as additional supplies and provisions sent down the Blue Fork from Seagard.  
+The bad news, however, is that recent rains have swollen the Blue Fork and have damaged the bridge at Fairmarket. The First Army is forced to wait a day while the engineers are put to work mending the bridge.

**Day209: Nov15  
Fairmarket**  
+Having repaired the bridge at Fairmarket, the First Army crosses and continues on its way to Riverrun.

**Day210: Nov16  
Riverrun**  
+Tyrion's reinforcements arrive, greatly bolstering the strength of the Lannister host besieging Riverrun. They also bring a radio with them, allowing Tywin to speak with Tyrion instantaneously. Tywin, however, is displeased to learn that Tyrion had abandoned his assigned post along the Ruby Ford and is marching to Riverrun, thus leaving Robb's path to King's Landing open.  
+Perhaps motivated partly by this change in strategy and partly out of impatience and spite, Lord Tywin orders an all-out assault on the castle almost immediately. An hours-long artillery bombardment wreaks devastation on the castle, as well as the use of a bomb to breach the gates.

**Day211: Nov17  
Riverrun**  
+The final assault on Riverrun continues well into the early hours of the morning. The Lannisters win after a tough slogging match that sees heavy casualties on both sides. House Tully loses about 3,500 killed or wounded and another thousand captured, as well as Lord Hoster Tully and Lord Tytos Blackwood. The Lannisters suffer some 8,000 killed or wounded, as well as Lord Roland Crakehall. Still, it is a major victory for the Lannisters, although Sir (now Lord) Brynden Tully is able to escape along with 2,500 others.

**Day212: Nov18  
Riverrun  
**+Tywin's host continues the march east along the River Road, having left most of their wounded and a small garrison to occupy Riverrun to help guard Tywin's supply lines back to the Westerlands.

**Day214: Nov20  
Near the Kneeling Man, Riverlands  
**+The First Army arrives at the banks of the Red Fork. The plan is to march along the northern bank onwards to Riverrun. It is then that Ned and Robb meet up with riders from Riverrun, and are shocked and horrified to learn that they have arrived too late to save the seat of House Tully, which was the whole point of their detour in the first place. The Starks resolve to set a trap for Tywin's forces...

**Day215: Nov 21  
Near the Kneeling Man**  
+The First Army sets up their pontoon bridge a second time in order to cross the Red Fork River, which takes a day. Lord Brynden's cavalry continue to clash with Tywin's scouts and advance parties, hoping to draw their attention away from the ambush that the First Army is preparing.  
**Winterfell, The North  
**+Engineers Donnelly and Adams inaugurate Winterfell's first solar panels. While the castle already possesses a number of solar-powered lights previously purchased from the colony, this is the first time anywhere on Westeros will have mains electricity. The series of photovoltaic panels installed on the central keep's roof have a capacity of some 200 kW, and are also designed to be easily stowed away in storage in case of severe winter weather, that can damage the panels... or in case of a siege as well.

**Day216: Nov22  
Near the Kneeling Man**  
+The trap is sprung. The First Army falls upon Ser Jaime Lannister's advance party, inflicting some 4,000 casualties (roughly 2,000 killed and 2,000 wounded). The ambush catches the Lannister army by complete surprise and throws them into disarray. However, the timely and unexpected arrival of the Army Of The Crownlands on the scene is enough to sow confusion among the First Army and buy enough time for Tywin to rally his troops, thus preventing a total disaster for the Westerlands. The First Army withdraws to reevaluate their position, and to tend to some 400 dead and 600 wounded (including Lord Galbart Glover).  
+Both armies retreat to their camps for the night to lick their wounds and prepare for the next day.

**Day217: Nov23  
THE BATTLE OF RED FORK**


	102. Tywin 5

_**Foreword:** the final battle has begun! For those of you who are finding the action a little hard to follow, there are maps of the battlefield and each side's deployment available on the other website. Looking forward to see what the readers have to say..._

* * *

**Tywin (V)  
**  
Drummers drummed. Pipers piped. Trumpeters trumpeted. The great cacophony of beats and brass was matched only by the ponderous thundering of tens of thousands of boots and hooves upon the soil, the shouts of the captains and officers and lords and knight commanders, the creaking and trundling of wagons and artillery limbers, and the fluttering of countless banners and flags in the wind. The greatest army in the Realm was on the move, and Tywin Lannister himself was in the middle of it all, astride his great war horse, golden armor gleaming in the sun. It was sure to get hot and heavy quickly, but he wore the full set all the same; the Lord Paramount of Casterly Rock did not believe in half measures.

The Young Wolf had proven himself to have a little more bite than what the Old Lion had anticipated. And as much as he hated to admit it, he really did owe quite a bit more to that last minute bold maneuver by Tyrion's column than what he cared to show in front of others. No matter. The painful lessons had been learnt, and today would be different. The miserable dogs and trouts had lost their most important advantage, the element of surprise, and today's battle was to take place on a great, open, grassy field alongside the Red Fork, where Tywin could use his superior cavalry to his advantage. That alone was a major improvement over yesterday's conditions.

He had also taken steps to quietly mitigate some of the other factors that had nearly led to disaster yesterday. No more would Ser Jaime lead the charge, but would instead be held in reserve until the time came for the decisive strike. His other son, who had rather unexpectedly proved his mettle and resilience on the field yesterday, would again lead the Goldrifles, and they would be the ones to spearhead the main infantry assault – some two thousand rifles backed up by thousands more swords and pikes... now that was sure to break the Northern line and open up the gaps needed for Jaime's reserves to swoop in and seal the battle (and perhaps save some face from yesterday's embarrassment by claiming the credit for today's victory). Tyrion too would get his due recognition and respect... perhaps even more so if he were, say, to perish that day, and henceforth be forever entered into the songs and annals of time as a heroic martyr, ever faithful to the cause of his family. Now that would make Tyrion a true son that Lord Tywin Lannister could be proud of.

But what gave the Old Lion the most confidence today was his careful political maneuvering behind the scenes. The Young Wolf had shown a remarkable proclivity for use of sword and shot on the battlefield unmatched by any other boy of five-and-ten that Tywin could think of. Now, however, was the time to see how good the boy's skills off the battlefield were. And Tywin was sure he had made the right deal with the right people that, at the right time and place, would ensure that, say, something most unforeseen and tragic would befall Robb Stark and all the other traitor lords who had risen up and cast their lots in with him. Like the Reynes and Tarbecks before them, Riverrun had learnt the price of defiance; now it was time for Winterfell to join their company.

The mounted officer riding immediately next to Tywin, one of the Crownlands knights, was carrying something most vital to Tywin's war effort strapped to his back: that magical box, the so-called "radio", through which he intended to keep this entire host in check. He could not congratulate himself enough for having included some two dozen of these devices in the initial orders he had made with the Sky-People. One had been carefully assigned to each of the major commanders on the field today – to Tywin himself, to Ser Stafford and Kevan and Jaime and Colonel Tyrion too, to Lords Brax, Kenning, and Westerling, and several others too – with the instructions to never let the lowly soldier charged with carrying it out of their sights. And as additional precaution, should the radio fail, the army would resort back to the usual chain of trumpets and signal flags – slower and less convenient, yes, but a reliable backup. Lord Tywin Lannister did not believe in half measures.

Indeed, Tywin put the radio to use just at that moment. At his command, the knight appointed "radio operator" activated the device, and set it to the number that Tywin ordered, which he was told was unique to the device Ser Addam was carrying. "Ser Marbrand," spoke the Old Lion into the box in his usual commanding tone, "what is your current status?"

"My liege!" hissed and crackled the box in the voice of Ser Addam, "the cavalry are in position, awaiting your orders. The last of our outriders are now reporting back in. Best as we can determine, the wolves are following a similar deployment to ours: solid infantry line with reserves, river on the north flank, and all horse concentrated on the south."

"Do we know who is in command and where?" barked Tywin.

"At this point, we cannot determine much other than Bolton may be holding the north end of the line – the scouts sighted a few of the pink banners of the Dreadfort there," replied Ser Addam, "and it appears that Tully and Mallister and the last of the trouts are somewhere along the southern end. And, uh, apparently, Stark himself is in command at the center."

"So the Young Whelp is counting on this legendary great-uncle of his to hold his flank for him," sneered Tywin, "typical."

"Actually my liege," corrected Addam, "it's, uh, _Ned Stark_, the traitor Hand himself, who is holding the center."

"Lord Eddard himself is here too?" inquired Tywin. _That is most unexpected... and inconvenient. Still_... "it makes no difference either way," he said quickly and firmly, "he will fall too like all the others." This did raise the possibility that his assassin would get the wrong Stark, but no matter; Young or Old, the demise of a Wolf on the field today was sure to break the moral of the Northmen. Perhaps with one Stark killed and another captured, that would suffice to make Winterfell capitulate to his terms, and thus perhaps ending the war with the North (in a suitably punitive manner of course) and freeing him up to focus on these mobilizations his informers had alerted him to going on in Dragonstone and Highgarden...

"And where is Robb?" commanded the Old Lion.

"We cannot locate him, my liege," replied Ser Addam, "granted, he's still one boy hiding from us in an army of some twenty thousand men. All we can determine is that he must be somewhere in the main body of the host, for our outriders have found no other hostile troops in the wider area."

"Good. I would rather not have any unpleasant surprises awaiting me this time," remarked Tywin. He looked ahead; the early morning mists were starting to disperse, and he could make out in the distance a great mass moving across the land, just over a mile away. "Yes, we shall halt here and made ready."

Thanks to the marvel of this so-called radio, Tywin's orders were relayed out to all of his highest ranking lords and field commanders within mere seconds. At once, up and down the line, whistles were blown, trumpets sounded, and signal flags waved back and forth, bringing the entire army grinding to a halt. The infantry and cavalry alike stood still and at attention, while the artillerymen busied themselves getting to work, unhitching the cannons from their limbers, wheeling them into position, unpacking the ammunition chests, and preparing to load the first round of shot.

Tywin held up his looking glass to his eyes and surveyed the scene. Sure enough, they were there, a long, solid line of grey and drab colors, the only splashes of color being the occasional fluttering banner or signal flag one could glimpse among them.

The Young Wolf had picked this battlefield well: the fast flowing muddy waters of the Red Fork gushed just due north of their position, effectively covering Tywin's left flank, and the Northerners' right flank. No decisive flanking actions would be fought there today. Instead, both armies were now free to concentrate all of their horse on their southern flanks. Just as the scouts had reported, the Lannisters had a huge advantage in cavalry, but after yesterday's painful lesson, they would have to be careful. For this reason, Tywin kept most of his horsemen in reserve, under the able command of Ser Jaime. Instead, Ser Addam Marbrand commanded there with some 3,000 horsemen behind him.

The Old Lion quickly stole a glance to his right, due south of his position. Sure enough, about a mile from him, he could see the two great masses of horse moving forward into position, like a carpet of steel and hide and leather creeping over across the land. The cream of the mounted nobility of the Westerlands and Crownlands alike was contained in that mighty throng; even from a mile afar, Tywin could vaguely make out the colors of the different banners and flag born by the horse: Marbrand, Lydden, Clegane, and some two thousand horse of the Rock and of Lannisport, hundreds of golden lion banners whipping back and forth like a whole herd of angry lions.

Between them and Tywin himself lay Tyrion's contingent, the King's Landing Rifles and the other Crownlands foot, along with several thousand more men of the West coming up behind them providing mass and support, under the joint command of Brax and Prester. Together with the Goldrifles, they would form the great hammer that would smash a hole clean through the Northern infantry line whilst Sers Addam and Jaime took care of the Northern horse.

Finally, to the due north of Tywin was where his brother took command of the left flank, mainly pike and bow. His brother was nowhere near as aggressive as he himself was, but Ser Kevan was an able enough leader, and he could be trusted to keep the flank, especially with the steep and muddy banks of the Red Fork to his immediate left.

Tywin himself held supreme command over the entire army as a whole, and of the center in particular – at least in theory. In practice, it was his cousin, Ser Stafford, who would directly command the troops placed front and center, while the Old Lion himself hung back with the reserve... and with the newest and proudest addition to the army, his artillery corps, that he had been adamant that he himself take personal command of.

Tywin took a moment to survey the enemy positions again with his looking glass. It was then that he saw several flashes of light, and heard the distant _pom pom pom_ that could only be one thing. Sure enough, next came the screaming of several projectiles flying through the air and crashing down into the ground, exploding, throwing up large clumps of dirt and grass and mud. Fortunately, all of these projectiles landed short of the front line, impacting the ground harmlessly between the two armies.

_He's either testing his range, or else trying to frighten the men_, thought Tywin, _either way, two can play at that game_.

"MAKE READY!" roared the Lion at the top of his voice. Most of the cannon crews were already loaded at that point and were merely standing by. Some of the men were already crouching down with their hands clasped tight over their ears, knowing what would come next. "UNLEASH ALL SEVEN HELLS!" came Tywin's command.

One by one, the cannons fired, disgorging their shot in a gout of flame and smoke that sent each gun recoiling backwards several feet; all together, they produced a thunderous clamor as if the Smith of the Seven himself were pounding his hammer into the earth.

No sooner were all the guns discharged when the crews were immediately back to work, pushing the cannons back into position, swabbing out the barrels, and loading the next shot. Tywin took this opportunity to survey the horizon once more. He could see that most of the shots fell short of the enemy, though he was sure that at least a few must have found their mark...

The horizon lit up again. _Pom... pom... pom... pom... pom_...

This time, several of the balls and shells found their mark, landing amongst the men of the West. Shells detonated; solid cannonballs impacted into the ground amongst the men, throwing up blood and body parts in addition to mud and clumps of grass. Men screamed as they were torn apart.

But Tywin was unfazed by this. And neither were the cannon crews, or if they were, they were too afraid to show it in front of their liege lord. The Old Lion stood firm, and expected his men to do so too... and if any of those miserable smallfolk were ever to be found wanting, he entrusted it to his good lords and officers and sellsword captains to help instill some steel in their spines.

On and on it went, the artillery on both sides exchanging barrage after barrage. Some shots fell short and struck the ground in front, quickly turning it into a muddy quagmire. Some shots flew wide and exploded behind the men – those at least did the job of motivating them to keep facing forward. And of course, some shots found their mark right amongst the rank and file, creating a right bloody mess where they landed. But Tywin was pleased to see that whether it was a mix of fear or discipline or loyalty, or simply not having anywhere else to go but forward (given the sheer depth of ranks behind them), the front ranks held firm and plowed on.

"Can we get a number on their artillery pieces?" demanded Tywin.

"Lord cousin!" replied the voice of Ser Stafford Lannister over the radio, "it is impossible to get an exact number, but we count at least forty or so!"

_Forty? Our informers told us there would be as many as eighty_, wondered Tywin to himself, _either our scouts were wrong, or some of their guns are being held in reserve_...

No matter. For now, that meant the Lannisters had the advantage in artillery, and that was something he had every intention of exploiting.

"Orders, my lord?" called out one of the artillery captains rushing up to Tywin's horse.

"Keep pounding the wolves with everything we have," he replied, almost insulted that someone had to ask him of something so blindingly obvious, "but concentrate all firepower on that position there, just south of the center, the one facing my, uh, son's position. And when their line is sufficiently softened up, aye, that's when our main assault will begin." _And perhaps by then, my assassins would have completed their work_. Tywin Lannister did not believe in half measures.


	103. Eddard 11

**Eddard (XI)**

Lord General Eddard Stark did not know which god's version of Hell he was looking at, only that right now he was right in the middle of it. All around him, shells and bombs were exploding, and men were dying. He was having difficulty keeping his horse under control, even though he had been given one of those who had been accustomed to the sound and smell and smoke of gunpowder over the last few months. To be fair, he could not fault the creature for losing its mind right now.

The only good news was that, judging from the holes Ned could see in the advancing Lannister host ahead of him, their forces had taken a heavier toll from the bombardment, even if Robb had taken almost half the guns for his personal reserve. Apart from having had their crews in training longer, the First Army, you see, had adopted a looser formation, partly because the men had grown well attuned to the effects these guns could have on massed infantry over these last few months, but also partly because due to the need to match the length of the lions' front with less men at their disposal.

Thank the Old Gods and the New, that thrice-damnable artillery seemed to die down, though the latest over the radio was that this was because it was all being redirected southwards, towards Karstark and Umber's division. Ned would have to trust in the Lords of Karhold and Last Hearth to weather the storm now descending upon them, but at the same time, he had to remain focused on his own division, on his assigned section of the battlefield...

And sure enough, up ahead, he could see the lines of Westerlands spears and swords, packed deeply thanks to their greater numbers, now converging on his location, armor and weapons gleaming in the sunlight, shields brightly displaying the leonine sigil of Casterly Rock and of Lannisport, a single unbroken line of red and gold. It almost brought back memories of the Trident, the tens of thousands of Targaryen and Crownlands houses, the vibrant colors of the ten thousand or so Dornishmen...

_No. Stop it, this isn't the Trident_. Ned took a deep breath, and, riding up and down the back of his first line, his grey greatcoat that he wore atop his armor and the plumes of his helmet fluttering in the breeze, he shouted out at the top of his voice. "Now, I know you can fire eight rounds a minute! But... what I want to know now is: CAN YOU STAND?!"

Ned's division only had about 500 of the First Army's rifles assigned to it; the rest were distributed amongst the other divisions in varying amounts. And these men now formed only the first two ranks, with the next two ranks immediately behind them composed of pikemen, whose reach extended well ahead of the rifles' bayonets, thus providing some cover from the wall of swords and pikes and spears now approaching them. Ned had to give Lord Tywin credit: whether it was loyalty or fear that kept them in line, or just the masses of ranks behind them that blocked off any chance of retreat, the bannermen of the Rock had weathered the opening artillery exchange, and now made for a rather impressive and terrifying sight to behold.

"PRESENT!" came the shouts of captains up and down the line. Five hundred fire-arms and over a thousand pikes were lowered into place, presenting an unbroken wall of spearheads and bayonets. "FIRST RANK, FIRE!"

The cracking of hundreds of rifles at the same time sounded almost like the gods themselves, Old and New alike, were hurling their divine judgment upon the ground. The impact on the advancing enemy forces was noticeable, as men dropped left and right. But still they advanced.

"SECOND RANK, FIRE!"

Once more, hundreds of rounds were discharged, whilst the men of the first rank were engaged in pulling down the levers, opening the breeches, ejecting spent cartridges, and pulling fresh rounds out of their belts and inserting them into the breech.

"FIRST RANK, FIRE!"

"SECOND RANK, FIRE!"

"FIRST RANK, FIRE!"

"SECOND RANK, FIRE!"

And so it went on as several more volleys of rifle fire were let loose at the advancing line of infantry. Hundreds fell, and still they kept on advancing, charging now, hoping to close the distance between armies as quickly as possible...

And then, the spears and swords of the West crashed head on into the pikes and bayonets of the North. Spearheads clanged against shields, swords and axes clinked against armor. Melee infantrymen tried to duck and slip in into the space between pikes in order to get at the riflemen, who fought back fiercely with their bayonets or the butts of their rifles.

At a couple places along the line, several swordsmen managed to hack their way right through; drawing Ice from its sheath with an audible _SHING_, Ned galloped over to the spot and swung the sacred ancestral blade of House Stark, smiting all who dared stand in his way. Neither mail nor boiled leather nor the finest crafted plate of Casterly Rock could stand up to Valyrian Steel. Ned drove Ice clean into the first swordsman's chest, straight through his breastplate, and then twisted and turned and brought the blade whirring around and crashing down onto the second swordsman's shoulder. The presence of their liege lord among them seemed to do wonders to the grit of the hard men holding the line.

The confused melee and chaos dragged on for what could have been mere minutes and yet felt like hours at the same time, but the lions finally retreated. The men of the First Army cheered, but Ned knew they were only falling back temporarily, so they may regroup and charge again, once more hoping to break the line through the gaps they had opened up with their previous assault.

Still, it gave him a precious minute to reevaluate the tactical situation. "Lord Bolton! Colonel Glover! What is your status?" called out Ned as he rode back to where the radio bearer stood.

Robbett Glover's voice was the first to answer. "My Lord! Our section of the front is holding!"

"My liege, your son's faith in these firearms is well-placed," added in another voice, one that could only belong to the Lord of the Dreadfort, "our couple hundred rifles decimated the lions enough for our pikes to do some real damage, but I fear Tywin may be focusing all of his real strength elsewhere on the field."

Before Ned could answer, he noticed a swarm of black objects rising into the sky from just behind the lions' infantry... "ARROWS INBOUND!" he shouted, "STEADY, MEN!"

Hundreds of arrows began to rain down around them. Most of the Northern spear and melee infantry were heavily armored and carried large shields, but with a few hundred arrows in flight, at least a couple dozen men weren't so lucky. Still, it could have been worse; thanks to the superior range of the rifles, the only way Tywin could have gotten his archers close enough to deal any appreciable damage was to advance them just behind the first line of infantry, and that meant all of their shots would be indirect rather than line-of-sight.

"Is that the best you can do?!" shouted one of the lowly enlisted privates of the first rank, taunting the efforts of the Lannister archers. A second later, the reply from the Lannister lines came in a dull _pom... pom... pom_... that Ned could hear in the distance. _You just had to ask, didn't you?_

The first two or three shots struck the no-man's land between the two armies. The next few landed all along the infantry line, sending spouts of blood and disembodied limbs everywhere. The next one impacted the ground not far from where Ned sat astrode his horse, the explosion such that it violently threw him and the poor beast aside. Something hard struck his helmet with a loud _CLUNK_, and Ned began seeing stars as he fell and hit the ground.

Ned was in a daze. The world around him seemed to slow down and blur, while the sounds and voices around him were all silenced, cut out by a painful high-pitched ringing in his ears. _What's happened to me? Have I gone blind and deaf?_ He simply lay there on the ground, clutching his head and writhing about in pain. The ringing just would not stop. That's when he looked up... and found himself looking right into the face of his sister, Lyanna Stark.

Ned blinked in surprise and horror. She just stood there, standing above him, covered in blood, but beneath that, as beautiful as ever, and holding tightly in her arms a newborn babe wrapped in swaddling clothes. _Promise me_, cried the voices in his head, _promise me, Ned_.

Other shapes began to dance before his eyes, before resolving themselves into familiar faces. First his father Rickard, his face charred and blackened, then his brothers Brandon and Benjen too. There was the Crown Prince Rhaegar, astride his horse, helmetless, his long white Valyrian hair blowing about in the wind, before just seconds later, his head was crushed inwards under the blows of Robert's warhammer. Robert himself appeared before him, as did Willam Dustin and Martyn Cassel and the others who had fallen at the Tower Of Joy, Ser Gerold Hightower and his brothers of the White, and then the Mad King himself, his body twisted and skewered by the many jagged blades of the Iron Throne itself.

And then new shapes and images began to appear and flash before his eyes: his dear wife Catelyn, sitting by the pool in the Godswood by herself; all five of their children, and Jon too; the Targaryen girl; even the Sky-People too were there: Frederick Kovacs and Daniel Zimmerman, Lady Venya and Sergeant Hawthorne, and then another man seated under a white tree that Ned first thought to be himself, and yet it wasn't him at the same time...

Ned squeezed his eyes tightly and shook his head furiously, trying to dispel the images from his mind. And all the while, he could hear at the back of his mind... singing? Like a mad fevered dream, the more he fought it, the more words and images of death and bloodshed from across a thousand endless wars embedded themselves into his broken mind...

_When duty calls me, I must go  
To stand and face another foe  
But part of me will always stray  
O'er the hills and far away..._

_O'er the hills and o'er the main_  
_Through rivers, snow, and land again_  
_House Stark commands and we obey_  
_O'er the hills and far away..._

_If I should fall to rise no more_  
_As many comrades did before_  
_Then have the pipes and drums to play_  
_O'er the hills and far away..._

_O'er the hills and o'er the main_  
_Through rivers, snow, and land again_  
_House Stark commands and we obey_  
_O'er the hills and far away..._

When Ned opened his eyes again, color and form and life returned, and he could see the face of one of the captains looking right into his, eye to eye, and screaming something, though what exactly Ned could not understand, such was the ringing still in his ears. The man shouted again.

Ned looked right in front of him. There, on the ground, lay his helmet. It was dented and covered in dirt, but it was there and it had probably saved his life. Almost instinctively, he reached forward, and grabbed it, and in one motion, placed it back on his head. The ringing in his ears miraculously seemed to stop immediately, and the world and all its sights and sounds suddenly came back into focus...

"What in all hells of all gods do we do now, m'lord?!" shouted the man again, Ned at last able to understand his words. He looked around him. There were five men surrounding him: the captain, a lieutenant, the radio operator, and two other First Army troopers serving as lowly aides. All were gathered around their liege lord, looks of concern on their faces.

Ned stared at all of them for a moment, blinked, and croaked: "water."

The captain handed him a metal canteen, uncapped. Ned took it in his hands and took a long swig, feeling the refreshing coldness on his palette, helping restore him to his senses. "What... how... the line?" he wheezed.

"Sir! The line's taken a beating but it's not broken, sir!" replied the lieutenant, "our division and Bolton's are pushing back, but Karstark and Umber's division is in trouble. Tywin's put all his rifles there and is throwing them and everything else he's got! They say the Imp himself is leading the charge..."

Ned took another swig from the water canteen, coughed, and spoke: "push back, but don't advance too far; we'll be exposing our flank that way to the lions' center. Call up the reserves, but don't charge them in just yet; if Karstark is indeed in trouble, we'll need three companies of our reserve to wheel southward to his aid." The lieutenant saluted him and quickly turned to the radio operator to relay these instructions. Meanwhile, the captain held out a hand. Ned grabbed it tightly and pulled himself up.

Right ahead of him lay Ice, where it had fallen into the mud when Ned was unhorsed. One of the aides picked it up and handed the heavy greatsword over to him. Ned took it with both hands, such was the weight, and gathering all his strength, he thrust Ice straight up into the air and shouted as high as he could: "MEN OF THE NORTH! HOLD STEADY!"

"HUZZAH!" shouted all of the men close enough to hear, even those in the frontline, currently engaged in the brutal melee against the lions, all glad to see and hear their liege lord still in one piece. Ned was in hell – for all he knew, he might even die there and then today. But all he knew for sure right now was that he would still rather be here, fighting alongside his banners, than slowly rotting away in some Black Cell under the Red Keep. He could think of no better death than for one who had lived his life by the sword.


	104. Tyrion 5

_**Foreword**: and now, ladies and gentlemen, we have finally reached one of two chapters that marks the climax of this story. Thanks to everyone who has made it thus far, I hope that this chapter and the next few after it will reward the reader, and I look forward to reading your reviews! Without further ado..._

* * *

**Tyrion (V)  
**  
Colonel Tyrion had spent much of the previous night deep in solace and contemplation... which for him usually meant deep in drink and even deeper inside the most delectable camp follower the good sellsword captain could find on such short notice. His head and nether regions still ached slightly from last night's partying as he kitted himself out and marched onto the field, but at the very least if he was to pay the consequences for his lifestyle today on the field, at the very least he had first gotten as much out of it as he could.

"MEN OF THE KING'S RIFLES!" roared the Little Colonel, as loud as he could, as he strode up and down the line, "this is it! One sharp blow, and the war is over!" That was not actually true, since the latest from Highgarden and Dragonstone was not exactly encouraging, but then again, taking the time to explain the various political intricacies of this conflict to the common soldiery was not exactly what they needed right now. He continued: "You have come far, all of you, from the slums of Fleabottom, through the training grounds, to the banks of the Trident, to the daring rescue when _we_ saved the Army Of The Westerlands from the certain doom that awaited it. Throughout it all, I have watched you all train and grow into the fierce warriors you are all now become. We may have had our... uh, _trials and tribulations_, yes... but I can safely say there is no-one else I would rather be with this day than alongside all of you! So be brave, stand strong, for today, to victory or to defeat, WE MARCH ONWARDS TO _GLORY_ ALL THE SAME!"

"HALFDUDE!" came the unanimous and rousing cheer from the men, "HALFDUDE! HALFDUDE!" Tyrion smiled; he had actually grown rather accustomed to that name. _Stirring words_, he thought, congratulating himself, _though if I may be honest, there are others I would rather be with right now. Oh well, perhaps the boost in morale will compensate somewhat_...

He looked up and down the line again. The entire King's Landing Rifles, along with the rest of the Crownlands foot and some five thousand men of the Rock, stood at the ready, in their boxlike formations, preparing themselves both physically and mentally to fall upon the Stark line, and cleave it in half. The former seemed by far the easier, as Tyrion noted the presence of what he had once been told was the smell of excitement and manly virtue afloat in the air; it smelt like a mix of piss dribbling down men's breeches, sweaty uniforms, vomit, blood, and the black powder.

Straight in front of them lay the Stark lines, a mere half-mile up the River Road, but it would be the hardest half-mile they would ever traverse in their lives. A small dip in the ground provided some modicum of cover, and some of the morning mist had yet to disperse, but otherwise, it was mainly flat and open ground between here and the Northern rifles. The perfect killing grounds, though for which side exactly remained to be seen.

Tyrion chose not to ride today; even short as he was, riding atop a horse might as well have been the equivalent of carrying one of the target boards they had used in training strapped to the front of him, and he was quite sure that the Northern rifles probably had a far better track record of actually hitting these boards than the King's.

Either way, many of the noble officers had been upset with Tyrion's mandate to unhorse them all, but after the example that had been made of Ser Amory Lorch, and after the Halfdude's position and authority had been reaffirmed and validated by none other than the Old Lion himself, no-one could really object anymore. Only Lord Rickard Garnett rode, and only because of his knee busted in the skirmish yesterday (not by the wolves, mind you, but by his own horse kicking him); he probably would die today, so Tyrion was willing to make exception for him, and the knight lieutenant happily accepted. A most chivalrous and brave fool indeed.

At that moment, every cannon the Army Of The West had to spare was pointed at a single point along the Northern line, raining cannonball and shell alike amongst the wolves, hoping to soften up the line in preparation for the assault. From this distance, Tyrion could see the gouts of mud and dirt thrown up by those shots that missed, and perhaps blood and a few body parts by those that hit home.

He then looked to one side and the other as he took stock of the men around him. The King's Landing Rifles were leading the main assault today; the entire massive block of infantry, about a half-mile wide, had been divided up into fifty man companies: first came two ranks of rifles, each twelve men abreast. Immediately behind them were another two ranks of pikes. Each of these 48-man units was led by a noble officer (lieutenant rank or higher), and one commissar behind to keep the men in check.

The mixed rifle-and-spear companies were arranged in a line, with some spacing between each company. Just behind this main rifle line were the several thousand more infantry of the Westerlands, the swords and spears under the command of Brax and Prester, while ahead of this main line were gathered the skirmishers and some of the melee infantry. These latter men's purpose was to soak up the Northern volleys of arrow and shot until the rifles were within range; at which point, they would either pull back through the gaps between rifle companies, or else simply get caught in the crossfire and die. Tyrion grimly noted that whilst the preservation of the lives of his men was a desirable outcome, sometimes, there were just situations where said lives had to be expended in the name of the mission. He usually was not as prolific as his lord father was in practicing this philosophy, but today was one of those exceptional days where it was very much warranted.

The orders came over the radio from his father: the artillery was to cease its bombardment on that sector and redirect itself towards other sectors of the battlefield. That was the signal to begin. Tyrion passed these instructions onward to all the officers and captains down the line. And then, with the shouts of the sergeants and the blowing of a bugle, thousands of men began to move – slowly and ponderously, but forward all the same.

Colonel Tyrion and his staff – Captain Bronn, the radio-bearer, the standard-bearer, two men to carry the signal flags and another to carry the gigantic lion-and-stag banner, the fifer and trumpeter and two drummers, and five other men assigned as his personal guards – came walking along just behind one of the companies, the one where Sergeant Payne too was leading the rifle platoon. The little young sergeant turned back and smiled as he saw his Colonel, looking right now like he could conquer the world; his impromptu promotion last night by Tywin Lannister himself had done wonders for his confidence and self-esteem.

The River Road and the grass on either side of it was now trampled by the feet of the thousands of skirmishers marching just ahead of them, although here and there, the lines of each company would break temporarily as men stepped aside to avoid obstacles like one of several dozen craters that had sprouted up in the field during the artillery bombardment just minutes earlier.

The Northern artillery opened up again, the distant booming joining the racket that was already issuing forth from the pounding of the boots upon the ground, and the admirable efforts of the pipers and drummers to add their own music to the mix. And then there came the sounds of the cannon shot screaming through the air. Most missed, but one struck right into the company two units south from the Little Colonel's position, taking out a half-dozen men with it. "Close it up! Close it up!" came the shout of the officer of that company as the remaining men rushed to fill the gap. "Steady, men! Steady!" shouted the officer of the company next to it, its men given pause somewhat by what they had seen in the other company.

"Here it comes," Tyrion heard Sergeant Payne muttering.

"Ouch time," replied the man next to him, one Private Benjamyn.

The drummer began to quicken their beat, and the commanders spurred the men onwards at a faster pace. Just north of him, Tyrion could see Lord Garnett atop his black destrier, waving his greatsword about in the air and yelling something obviously meant to encourage the men, though whether it actually was doing so was another matter entirely.

And then, before they knew it, they crested the edge of the dip and found themselves within sight of the Wolf line. Tyrion blinked. It was a solid line of grey and drab, banners of Winterfell fluttering in the breeze like an enormous pack of wolves darting in and out of a veritable forest of flagpoles. Even he was intimidated by the sight of it, but he knew he could not let that fear control him now. He calmly took a deep breath and bellowed "CHARGE!" The trumpeter blew the signal.

As one and all at once, the entire line broke out in a jog, hoping to quickly close the distance. Not surprisingly, the skirmisher lines in front, lighter as they were, drew ahead of the main infantry line, barreling towards the enemy as fast as their legs could carry them...

The cracking of several hundred fire-arms was heard, and muzzle flashes seen up and down the wolf line, and the first wave began to drop like wheat in a field at the time of the harvest. A second volley several seconds later decimated the line even more. Of whoever was left, some continued to rush the line, too caught up in the moment; most simply turned and fled back to the seeming safety of their own lines.

While the skirmishers were dying left and right, however, Tyrion had ordered the rest of the men to halt and reform their solid formations that had fallen somewhat into disarray during the sprint. He hated to admit it, that he had just let several hundred men die for the sole purpose of shielding his most valuable forces, but it was a brutal necessity given the circumstances. He sighed: it was almost as if he was really was his father after all. Then he cleared his throat and hollered: "FIRST RANK, FIRE!"

A thousand King's rifles were discharged at once. Accurate or not, the sheer volume of bullets sent spiraling forth at the wolves was such that the impact was immediate, compounded mere seconds later when came the order that the next thousand rifles be discharged too. "SECOND RANK, FIRE!"

Back and forth, the King's Landing Rifles and the Northern rebels exchanged volleys, grinding each other down, as the agonized screams of men intermingled with the cracking of rifles and the frantic shouting of captains and officers. But the King's men had over four times as many rifles concentrated in that particular sector of the battlefield, and before long, weight of numbers and sheer volume of shot dispensed began to rule decisively in Tyrion's favor.

Of course, not every rank-and-file soldier in the line could see the battle as their commanders did and thus appreciate the fact that they were winning. One of the lowly privates in the company just ahead began to panic, and turned around to push past the spearmen behind him and try to flee; some of the men tried to stop him, knowing full well what fate awaited him, but he kept running and...

**_BANG_** rang the rifle in the hands of the company's commissar. The young soldier cried out as he crumbled onto the ground, a hole evident where the 7.62mm round had penetrated his cuirass. "Valar Morghulis!" shouted the commissar in his Braavosi accent, "give me another!" Immediately, one of the company's spearmen stopped, dropped his spear, and rushed to picked up the fallen private's rifle and ammunition belt, as he had been trained to.

You see, fortunately for the lions, the fire-arms themselves were not as mortal as the men wielding them. And so, ever since they had left King's Landing, Tyrion had been working feverishly on devising some manner to compensate for each King's Rifle killed or fled, and he believed he had found at least part of the solution in making sure that for every rifleman who fell, a spearman behind him would be available to pick up his rifle and continue putting up fire. Thus, it fell to each rifleman at night to "buddy up" with one spearman, to train and drill with him, and explain to his "buddy" the workings of the fire-arm. The replacement riflemen, less trained as they were, shot even _worse_, but oh well, as long as there was always two thousand rifles pointed at the enemy, that was all that mattered.

Tyrion quickly looked side to side again to see how the rest of the line was holding. Evidently, other companies too were calling upon the "buddy-buddy" system to replace their mounting losses, but the line was still solid and holding. "STAND FIRM, MEN!" shouted Lieutenant Lord Rickard Garnett as he drove his spurs into the flanks of his horse, galloping up and down, just behind the front line. "HAVE NO FEAR! Why, they could not hit the broadside of a barn if they... AAAAAHHHH!" A spout of blood issued forth from Garnett as his body fell limp and tumbled off the horse.

_Good, one less chivalrous idiot_, thought Tyrion, _who knows, we survive this, I'll make sure to restaff this entire army with men I can actually count on_...

"Greatjon is down!" shouted Sergeant Payne, joyfully, "sir, I repeat, the Greatjon is down!"

_Another lord to add to your growing collection, Sergeant?,_ wondered Tyrion, _or perhaps my lord father's assassins have finally decided to get on with their work before the battle is finished?_ Whatever may have been the case, Tyrion tried to look and see, but again, his height failed him as all he could see over the shoulders of the men was a rough area of the battlefield where the Umber banners fluttered and a great commotion seemed to be afoot...

"It's the Greatjon, alright," muttered Bronn, his height enabling him to see things more clearly, "no one could mistake him for anyone else."

"Good work, Sergeant Payne," remarked Tyrion, "keep up the fire! You may yet make a fine field commander one day!"

"Yes sir! I..." **_CLANG_**. Pod stumbled backwards.

"Podrick!" cried Tyrion with concern in his voice that surprised even him.

But Pod had managed to steady himself and stand up straight again. He pulled off his helmet and held a hand up to his head; it was bleeding profusely, but the helm seemed to have taken the worst of it, judging by the massive inward dent in it (although that probably made it unwearable now). "I'm okay, sir... I think!" called up Pod, "the helmet took most of..."

**_SHUNK_**.

The young soldier's head seemed to explode as a second round struck it. Bits of Podrick's skull and brain splattered all around, including a lot of it right onto Tyrion's face.

For a second, the Little Colonel could do nothing but stare on at the crumbled body of Sergeant Payne on the ground, a gaping hole in the top of his head, though his face still seemed frozen in the look of triumph he had just moments ago, his eyes looking straight ahead. Tyrion had already seen thousands of men fall today, but there was something in that innocent face of the young soldier that deeply horrified him like no other death on the battlefield that day ever could.

"We've done it!" cried Bronn, trying to shake him out of his shock.

"Wha...what?" mumbled Tyrion.

"We've broken the line!" replied Bronn, "look! The wolves are fleeing!" Sure enough, when Tyrion looked ahead, he could see the Northmen falling back, flag-bearers wildly waving their signal flags back and forth, commanders desperately trying to maintain some semblance of order among the lines as they pulled back.

The Little Colonel was still shaken badly, but he had orders he needed to give. "All units, uh, continue to advance... we have them on the run; let us chase them down before they regroup. But I want it made clear to Brax and Prester that I want their units moving in order, not running off to do whatever they please."

"Sir!" called up the radio-bearer, striding up to the Halfdude's side, "it's your lord father, sir!"

"Colonel Tyrion," came the voice of the Old Lion, crackling from the box, "what is the status of the King's Rifles?"

Tyrion swallowed and spoke: "father! We have driven the Stark line back on our sector of the field. Casualties are... are..." he turned and looked back mournfully at where lay Podrick Payne, Hero Of The First Regiment, and sighed. "...casualties were heavy... but acceptable. We are pushing forward all the same."

"Good. Well done, Colonel," replied Tywin, stern but with some approval apparent in what was probably the kindest way he had ever addressed his son in a long time. "Ser Addam reports that they too have put the Northern horse to flight and the south flank is now wide open. I've ordered your brother to engage the reserve and smash the wolves once and for all. Over and, uh... out." Tywin was still trying to adjust himself to the operations of this Sky-People box, but when he made a promise, by the Gods did he deliver on it: within minutes, Tyrion could hear the rolling thunder and feel the earth itself shuddering, and as he looked south, he saw a sight that made him gawk in awe and marvel at the sheer scale of it all. Addam and Jaime's charge had begun.


	105. Jaime 1 & Robb 6

_**Foreword**: at long last, we have arrived at the climax of this book! So here is where I recommend plugging in your headphones and playing your favorite "epic final battle music" as you read this next chapter._

* * *

**Jaime (I) &amp; Robb (VI)  
**  
For the whole morning, Ser Jaime Lannister had watched the battle unfold from the sidelines, eager to join, but constantly reminded of his father's express orders (and, implicitly, of yesterday's fiasco). But today promised to be different, and there was no clearer indication of this when the encouraging news came in first that Marbrand had put the Northern horse to flight, and then again just minutes later when his own brother Tyrion had cleaved the Stark line in half.

Jaime beamed with pride; little Tyrion had done it after all. Perhaps when this war was over, he and father would make amends and the Lannisters would once more be united as a single house, empowered by the Sky-People's gifts, unchallenged by none else in the Realm. And he himself would return to Cersei's loving arms and together they would watch their three beautiful lion cubs grow up and rule the Seven Kingdoms.

But that was all for the future. For the moment, there was a battle to be won and an entire kingdom of rabid dogs to be put down. And from where he stood, Jaime could see that the critical moment upon which hinged this entire battle, and with it, the fate of the Realm, had come. And it was his moment.

One of the lower knights, Ser Raymond Ruttiger, serving as one of Ser Jaime's command staff, rode right up to where Ser Jaime stood. He bowed, and declared rather excitedly: "My Lord! The enemy is fleeing the battlefield! A glorious victory is soon to be yours!"

"Excellent," smiled Ser Jaime, "mobilize our cavalry reserves. We move now!"

"It shall be done, my Lord," bowed Ser Ruttiger as he turned to pass these orders down the line, but then paused. "Uh... which ones exactly?"

"_All_ of them," replied Jaime.

Ser Ruttiger nodded and rode off, back and forth along the line, relaying his orders to the thousands of Westerlands nobility, who were already raring for the fight, eager, impetuous from having had to have spent the whole morning watching the excitement from the sidelines whilst others took the fight to the wolves.

Jaime took a moment to take it all in again, the glory and majesty of the sight arrayed before him. There were magnificent horses of every breed: tall, splendid, high-spirited destriers, richly decorated in their house colors, each a costly but worthwhile investment for the knight who sat astride them. Not as splendid but still quite beautiful (and a lot less costly too) were the coursers that most of the mounted nobility favored. There were chargers as well, and rounseys, the latter not particularly pleasing to the eyes, but their repute for being sturdy and reliable made them the primary choice amongst the hedge knights and the non-knightly men-at-arms.

Just as majestic as their mounts were the men who sat them: the golden generation of the Westerlands' finest nobility, all gathered in one place, in armors of every type and character. The lowliest hedge knights and men-at-arms wore simple mailed hauberks and boiled leather; there was the scaled lamellar armor of the middling knights and riders, crafted out of small lacquered iron plates; and then there was the full on steel plate worn by the highest nobles, some of which were even coated in a thin layer of brass (or even gold) to give the impression of the great wealth of the houses of the West. Others were finely polished such as to glint and gleam in the sun like silver.

Many of the assembled riders proudly wore their house banners bolted to their backs, so as to free up their hands for the arms and shields they carried. Jaime took a quick glance at the sheer diversity of banners that surrounded him: there was the golden lion of Casterly Rock and Lannisport, the burning yew of Ashemark, the white badger of House Lydden, the peacock of House Serrett, the green arrow of Sarsfield, the three dogs of the Cleganes...

Jaime felt his chest swelling up with pride and excitement at the sight of it all, and the knowledge that today, he would be leading these men into the final charge, perhaps the single largest charge in the entire history of the Realm, and together, they would make the Starks pay for everything they had done. His head still throbbed slightly from the minor injuries he had received during yesterday's ambush, but he did admirably to never betray a sign of weakness to anyone around him, and if anything, that pain would remind him just what was he there today fighting for, and what vengeance he intended to wreak upon the traitors. Today, they would hear him roar.

**_Shiiiinnngg_**, went Jaime's sword as he slowly drew it, almost as if its very sharpness were audible and reverberating through the air. He then turned to address the men, as loudly as he could: "Men of the West!" he began, "our time for glory has come! Swords shall be shaken, shields shall be splintered... and I will kill a lot of men today! To arms, brothers, and let this be the day that we show everyone once and for all that good ol' noble steel, not some cowardly fire-arms in the arms of the miserable smallfolk, shall always carry the day! Long live His Grace The King, and may the Rock stand ten thousand years!"

"TEN THOUSAND YEARS!" echoed the men.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" roared Jaime, aggressively.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" roared the rest of the men in enthusiastic response, beating their swords and lances against their shields.

Jaime's horse grunted as he drove his spurs into the creature's flank, and she set off at a canter. At the same time, the great war horns were blown throughout the entire army, the drums beaten furiously, and the ground rumbled as thousands and thousands of hooves began to beat upon the earth in unison...

* * *

Even at the other end of the battlefield, Jaime's movements had not gone unnoticed.

"Sir!" yelled the voice of Lieutenant-Colonel Hallis Mollen over the radio, "the lions are mobilizing their cavalry reserves!"

"Can we get an estimate on their numbers?" barked Robb.

"_All_ of them, sir!"

_So this is it then_. It was exactly what Robb had dared hope would happen, but all the same, he still could not help but feel the fear boiling deep within him, the terror of facing the full force of the legendary cavalry of the West in a head on charge. He had taken every precaution, but still, one could never prepare fully for it. Instead, he looked down at Grey Wind, as if he had all the answers. He did not, but something about him inspired him and gave him inner strength and resolve whenever he otherwise doubted himself. Robb gulped and spoke back into the radio, slowly but clearly: "Mollen, get your men back to the line immediately! You've done enough, we'll take it from here."

"Sir, yes sir!"

Robb looked up and saw about two hundred men rushing back to the front line as fast as their legs could carry them: these were the small groups of sappers and First Army engineers that he had sent out earlier under Mollen, marching and working hidden behind the backs of their forward cavalry forces, who had now fallen back southwards where they were to regroup and await further instructions. And sure enough, not a minute too soon, he could hear the great clamor that came as the entirety of the mounted nobility of the Westerlands appeared in the distance, slowly picking up speed.

Was it only a thousand cavalry, or a million? The effect of seeing the horde now descending upon them was the same either way. Grey Wind growled. Robb grasped his sword in his hands, muttered a prayer to all the Gods, Old and New, and steeled himself for what came next. Even with all of his preparations in place, this was not guaranteed to be an easy fight.

"Steady!" he roared, "hold steady men!" He turned to address the artillery captain standing behind him, "they're at range. Fire the main guns!" The captain nodded and shouted orders at the men manning the Napoleons. Robb continued: "remember, once they hit the first marker, switch to canister, but not before! When they hit the second marker, we unleash the new guns. Alright men, take your positions! This is it!"

* * *

The thundering of the hooves upon the earth was all he could hear around him – that and the deep breathing and grunting of his horse, the beast's heart pounding furiously, and Jaime was entirely caught up in the heat of the moment. _Faster!,_ he thought to himself, _FASTER!_ Onwards, into the valley of death rode the men of the West...

Ser Jaime's reserve had met up with Ser Addam's forward riders, and now the two forces had coalesced into a single mighty mass, the hammer that would decisively smash the Northern rebels against the anvil his father and brother had so painstakingly set up.

Such was the noise around him that Jaime never heard the discharge of the guns, though he could see a dozen flashes lighting up the horizon ahead, followed closely after by the sounds of shells screaming through the air and landing amongst them and detonating. Several explosions rocked out somewhere near to Jaime; clumps of mud and shards of metal were thrown up everywhere, and men and horse both were torn apart or blown aside by the force of these explosions.

_Ah, the other half of their artillery finally decided to show up!,_ thought Jaime, _well, no matter! They are far too few! We shall close the distance and run them down all the same!_

More shot and shell alike began to impact the ground around him, exploding. Some horses continued to gallop onwards without rider, too caught up in the furor of the charge. Another horse, not to far from where he was, was decapitated entirely when a cannonball struck its head and tore it and its rider clean off. Still others began tripping and stumbling over the bodies of those in front of them. But still, they charged onwards.

"HOLD THE LINE!" shouted Jaime, "STAY WITH ME!"

Up ahead at last was a thin line of miserable Northern infantry, just ripe for the slaughter. They didn't look to be too many at all. Good. The men of the West would cleave through them like a hot sword through fresh butter.

"STAY WITH ME!" he shouted again, not knowing if anyone else could hear him over the great clamor of the charge, but he cared not. Closer and closer they drew, shells continuing to rain down amongst the men, but doing nothing to stop the charge.

It was then that he noticed the row of wooden stakes driven into the ground just ahead of them. At first, Jaime did not know what to make of it. But as he drew the nearer, he was suddenly aware of two very thin pieces of shiny metal that ran between each stake...

"JUMP!" shouted Jaime, frantically turning back to try to warn all those behind him. He drove his own spurs into his beast's flanks, and his horse leapt, just barely missing the top of this obstacle. Jaime breathed a sigh of relief, but he knew that most of the men behind him wouldn't be so lucky...

* * *

_They've hit the first wire_... "Switch to canister!" shouted Robb, "CANISTER SHOT! NOW!"

"You 'eard 'im boys!" yelled the artillery captain, "put some canister in that Lannister!" The gun crews scrambled to load the new shells brought up from the limbers.

Robb turned back to face the front to see what was going on. Mollen's men had done a fine job hammering the stakes into the ground in such short time; the barbed wire had already been nailed on and rolled around each stake ahead of time – something he had been experimenting with recently as a way of speeding up how quickly a fortified camp could be set up each night. That said, with the weight of thousands of bodies now piling up behind it and throwing their weight against it, some of the stakes were pulled out of the ground; in other places, horses and men were jumping over the wire and trying to regroup on the other side. All the while, shells continued to rain down among the tightly packed mass and detonate.

With a great heave, an entire section of the wire fence was pulled down from the sheer weight of horses behind it; many of the poor creatures and their riders now lay on the ground, tangled in the wire, at the mercy to be trampled by the masses of cavalry coming up behind them. The charge had been blunted, but it still kept coming. Everything now rested on the second wire that the sappers had already set up in front of the infantry line. With only such a thin line between them and the Lannister lances, Robb could not fault the men for the fear he could sense in them, no matter how solid the line of pikes and bayonets was. He reached down and patted Grey Wind on the head, looking for any reassurance he could find at that final moment.

He then looked behind him. The remaining crews were frantically wheeling the new guns into position, prying open the boxes that contained the munitions. Nearby, one of the younger Captains supervising them turned to face him and called out to him: "Robb! Am I your brother, now and always?"

"Forever and always, Theon," he shouted back, "give 'em all Seven Hells! And those of the Old Gods and your Drowned God too!" Captain Greyjoy smiled mischievously and knelt down right behind one of the guns nearest him.

Robb turned around to face the front again, and now the entire field of vision was nothing but cavalry, cavalry stretching as far back as the eye could see. Now was the moment.

"Fire," he muttered. He coughed, cleared his throat, and shouted this time, as loud as he could: "FIRST RANK, OPEN FIRE!" He turned back to face Theon and the others manning the gun right next to him. "FIRE THE NEW GUNS!"

* * *

Jaime was furious. He cursed his injury from the previous day that was now throbbing. He cursed that damnable wire and those thrice-damned shells that rained down upon them, taking out men and horse both by the score. Most of all, he cursed that cowardly Young Wolf, hiding craven behind these devices of his; Jaime resolved to find him and cut him down himself. He had failed to kill the treacherous Old Wolf, but his firstborn would be an adequate substitute.

Perhaps the one thing he wasn't cursing at the moment was the majestic beast he rode who had carried him faithfully thus far, and the men riding at his side, those who had followed his lead and leapt over that barrier the Northmen had left for them, or those who had simply plowed through it, powered by grim determination alone.

"STAY WITH ME!" he yelled as they surged onwards. They were close now; from this distance, he could almost see the faces of the infantry, the looks of fear in some, determination and resolve in others, the pure anger and excitement of those rushing to man the larger guns ...

And then the line opened fire, and all Seven Hells broke loose.

* * *

**_Dakka-dakka-dakka-dakka-dakka-dakka-dakka-dakka-dakka-dakka-dakka-dakka-dakka-dakka-dakka-dakka-dakka-dakka-dakka...  
_**  
The great brass beast standing next to Robb roared as it came to life; ten rifle-caliber barrels arranged in a circle around a central rod, spinning, a belt of some kind connecting the base of the device with the ammunition box next to it. Standing behind it, Captain Theon Greyjoy laughed maniacally, seeming to be having the time of his life as he turned the crank like his very life depended on it... "HAHAHAHA! LOOK AT ME, BROTHER! I'VE NOW KILLED MORE MEN THAN MINE UNCLES COMBINED! I AM THE _TRUE _HEIR TO THE IRON ISLANDS!"

"STAY FOCUSED, BROTHER!" shouted Robb, vaguely annoyed by the levity his brother in arms was making of the situation, but so long as he kept the ten barrels rolling, that was all that mattered.

"FIRST RANK, FIRE!" yelled the officers and sergeants up and down the line. "SECOND RANK, FIRE! FIRST RANK, FIRE! SECOND RANK, FIRE!", after each order, another volley of rifle fire let loose. Between the shouts of the men, the cracking of rifles, and the clattering away of the new guns, Robb almost couldn't hear the shouts and cries and neighing of the horses on the other side.

At his side, Grey Wind growled and barked like mad at the sight of all the blood and carnage before him, and for a second, Robb felt the sudden urge to follow his gut instinct, to charge forward and throw himself into the melee, to swing his sword about and pass judgment unto these men by his own hands.

But no, his place was here, with the men, guiding them, leading them, showing them that their Lord General had not forgotten them. One day, the songs and the history books might look back and would either judge him a hero for leading the first line personally, or else judge him craven for doing so from behind a wall of pikes and bayonets and wire. Either way, he decided that he first wanted to make it past this day alive, and then only worry about his reputation later.

"Intensify the forward firepower!" he commanded, "I don't want anyone getting through!"

* * *

All around him, men and horse alike were falling to the ground, clutching at wounds, screaming in agony, shedding limbs and blood all over the place. Some of the horses, though, continued to plough on. Jaime was among these. _C'mon_, his mind screamed at him, _c'mon! You can do it. Everyone is counting on you..._

No, too late. He felt a great pain in his stomach as a bullet struck his destrier, burrowed clean through the beast's neck, and struck him in the gut with enough force to penetrate his plate. In its dying throes, the creature reared up on its hindlegs, cried out one last time, and then fell to the ground, rider and all.

* * *

It was beautiful and yet terrifying and horrific at the same time, the things that Robb now beheld with his eyes... the growing masses of bodies, tangled in wire, riddled with bullets and shrapnel, or blown apart completely by shells. They were quite something, these new guns – expensive, even if Lord Kovacs had been willing to offer them at what he called a discount price, and the costs and effort of maintaining them were even more considerable. Due to the hardships of the road, five out of the original seventeen purchased had been experiencing mechanical difficulties that the First Army's engineers had no hope of repairing, but the marked impact the remaining twelve had on the approaching column of knights was lethal, especially when bundled together with the might of some thousand rifles and eighteen Napoleons. And then, one by one, the guns began to fall silent...

"Why have we stopped firing?" he demanded.

"Sir!" replied Lieutenant-Colonel Mollen by his side, "guns three and seven have jammed, and all the rest are out of ammunition, sir!"

Frowning, he surveyed the scene again. Where once had stood thousands of proud bannermen in shining armor astride their mounts upon the grassy plain, the land ahead had now been reduced to a muddy quagmire of craters and mud and bodies twisted and contorted in various ways. It was not the dead who were the most horrible to look upon, but actually those still alive, the wounded and the dying, as men screamed out in pain, slowly bleeding to death, and horses struggled to shake themselves free of the wire. Robb was stunned by the scene that greeted his eyes, but he knew too that there was still a battle going on around him...

"Colonel, I want those Napoleons turned right, forty-five degree angle," he began, trying his best to appear calm and stern and not disturbed in the slightest, "that should give them a clear line of enfilade over most of the lions' pride. Keep firing until I give you the order to cease; that will be the time for our horse to fall upon their flanks." Hallis Mollen nodded and ran off to pass these instructions on to the artillery teams. Robb next addressed the radio operator: "inform Lord Mallister that if he has regrouped, he should arc around and try to take whatever is left of the Lannister horse in the rear; they will have nowhere to retreat but up."

"And right into the Imp's flanks," snickered Theon.

"Precisely," he replied, "finally, inform my Lord Great-uncle to mobilize our cavalry reserve; once we have finished with the artillery, he has my permission to do whatever he sees best to drive these lions into the river."

"And us, sir?" asked one of the sergeants.

"We go over the top and sweep up what remains," replied the Young Wolf, feeling the blood in his veins begin to boil and clutching at his sword, "remember: left wing, right wheel! We'll swing like a door so that we may present our entire front when we take the Imp in the flank."

"Advance!" shouted the sergeants and captains as they rallied the men, "left wing, right wheel!"

A whistle was blown, signaling the charge, and the eleven hundred or so riflemen supported closely by a thousand spearmen began to move, ducking and crawling under the wire, or else advancing unhindered through the gaps where the wire had been pulled down.

* * *

It took a heroic effort, but Ser Jaime finally pulled himself free from under the heavy carcass of his poor horse. Not that he was any better off now: his leg hurt like Seven Hells, and he knew he must have broken something. Or everything. Breathing heavily, he pulled himself up into sitting position, and took a moment to look around him. What he saw sickened him to the pit of his stomach, the sight of the dead and wounded everywhere, the sounds of their cries, the air thick with the smell of blood and sulfur. He had lived and fought through a number of battles over his life, had lived through the Sack Of King's Landing and other sights that haunted him to this day, but this was unlike any other he had ever seen before. This was not a battle; this was a slaughterhouse.

_No, stay focused. Must... concentrate on... killing Young Whelp!_ It was as if pure anger and fevered madness was all that kept him going. With great effort, he unfastened the armor on his left leg and took a look. No, fortunately, it turns out his leg wasn't broken, since he was able to stand up. It still pained him, but his armor must have borne most of the impact. Or perhaps it was the feverish madness in his mind that kept him going, fixated only on the mission, completely oblivious to his numerous injuries. Sure enough, he could see the advancing lines of Northern rifles and spears just up ahead of him...

And then... _yes, that was him, alright! Who else could it have been?_ Jaime still remembered well the Young Wolf when they had met in Winterfell all those months ago. True, he looked different, older, dressed differently, and with shorter and tidier hair, but it was impossible to forget that face. And even if he had, the great grey beast striding along next to him was a dead giveaway. "Over here!" shouted Jaime, trying to draw attention to himself. The direwolf seemed to have taken notice and looked directly at him, and snarled. Its master too noticed him a second later, and began walking towards him...

_That's it_, muttered Jaime, calmly checking to see if his secret dagger was still where he kept it. It was. _Good_. He might not salvage this battle for his father, no, but if he could at least slay the Young Wolf where he stood, even if it meant taking himself down with him...

"Fight me, BOY!" yelled Jaime, as loud as he could, "fight me like a real man! Come on, just you and I! Let us end this war right here and now!"

"Sir, it's the Kingslayer himself!" remarked one of the soldiers guarding their Lord General.

"Coor, right bloody fuckin' mess he is!" taunted one of the men striding alongside Robb, "guy can hardly stand!" Jaime also recognized this man as the Kraken's boy he'd once seen before in Winterfell, even with the changes in clothing and hairstyle...

"When I'm done with the Young Whelp, I will gut _you_ too like the miserable fish you are!" snarled Jaime.

"Idiot! A kraken is not a fish!" retorted the Greyjoy, "they're actually crustaceans! I think."

"Enough!" growled the Wolf, "leave the Kingslayer to me." He pulled out his sword and prepared himself for the duel, the rage livid in his piercing blue eyes. _Yes, that's it_, thought Jaime... "Ser Jaime Lannister!" barked the Wolf, "you stand accused of two counts for the attempted murder of my brother, Brandon Stark! Of the attempt on the life of my father, Lord Eddard Stark, Warden Of The North! Of breaking your vows to the Kingsguard to pursue incestuous relations with the Queen! Of conspiracy to plant the spawn of your incest upon the Iron Throne! Of the murder of Lord Hand Of The King Jon Arryn, Warden Of The East, when he discovered the truth of this matter! How do you plead?"

"Come and get me!" spat Jaime, half-delirious by now. He took up a pose, summoning whatever little strength he had left, sword at the ready. He might manage two or three good strikes, but all he needed was to block him only once, and long enough to retrieve the dagger and drive it into those wild, glaring blue eyes...

"Why don't you just _shoot_ the fucker?" piped up Theon.

"_Captain_ Greyjoy," shot Robb, keeping his eyes on Jaime, "there are some points in life that cannot be made with bullets alone... though a little deception also never hurts."

_Deception? Ha!,_ thought Jaime, _it is I who will be doing the deceiving here! I'll kill you with mine own two hands, you and your little dog too!_

_Hang on, where's the direwolf? He was just there a minute ago and..._

Something snarled right behind him, and then bit into his bad leg with bone-crushing force, right at the spot where the armor had been taken off. The pain was excruciating, and Jaime's mind went blank, his delirium returned. And when he next came to, all he could see was the blurred image of his opponent standing over him, sword held high, and bringing it down...

_**THUNK**_.

* * *

_**Footnotes:** and that, ladies and gentlemen, is the climax! But wait, there's MORE to follow! What has become of Jaime, Robb, Tyrion, Ned, Tywin, and all the others? And where are Tywin's assassins? Find out soon enough! In the meantime, I look forward to hearing what everyone has to say..._


	106. Tywin 6

_**Foreword: **thanks everyone for the overwhelmingly positive response to the last chapter! Yes, that indeed was the climax, but we're not done just yet. Today, we fill in a major piece of the puzzle._

* * *

**Tywin (VI)**

_What in Seven Hells has happened?_ A few minutes ago, Lord Tywin Lannister had been on the verge of a great victory. His forces had taken heavy losses, true, but they had broken the center of the damnable wolves' line and rolled back their cavalry. The men of the Rock had weathered the storm of rifle and cannon, and had persevered! And yet, now, it was all coming crashing down...

The radio cracked and hissed with a flurry of messages from all over the field.

"My lord! Your son has fallen! A cutting blow!"

"My liege! Our men are running from the battlefield! A shameful display!"

"My lord! New guns on the south flank! They're opening up on us!"

"By the Seven, where did all these horses come from?!"

"_Ten thousand_ rifles guarding their south flank? This cannot be!"

"_Father!_ This is Tyrion! Jaime is... is lost! And we will be too! I'm ordering a retreat now! We have to salvage what we can..."

_All of this and where are my assassins?!,_ wondered the Old Lion, _the Stark boy should be dead by now! He and the others!_ "HOLD STEADY!" he shouted at the ranks of confused men right in front of him from atop his destrier. "Men of the West! We must reinforce the right flank! Wheel right, I say! WHEEL RIGHT!" _What has happened?! Where are Jaime and Ser Marbrand?! WHERE ARE MY ASSASSINS?!_

**_CLANG_**.

The round struck Tywin's cuirass full on. The strongest steel from the finest smiths and master craftsmen of Lannisport, gilded in the sacred gold of the Rock itself... failed to stop a single one of the Sky-People's "seven point six two millimeter"; the round penetrated his armor, and embedded itself deep within his abdomen. Tywin Lannister did not believe in half-measures, but for once, even the fullest measures did not protect him. He plummeted to the ground, breaking a few bones in the fall, but it mattered little for he was already a condemned man.

"MY LIEGE!" shouted one of the knights closest him, shocked.

"Get a physician here NOW!" shouted another.

Within mere moments, two of the nearby physicians came running to their liege lord's side, carrying a bag full of medical implements and some of the handful of the medicines they had purchased from the Sky-People. Tywin clutched at his wound in shock and pain, but his mind was still clear enough to express some distaste over the tardiness of their services. _Quicker, you fools! I swear you'll be the death of me!_

"Can you save our liege lord?!" cried out one of the soldiers.

"We can," replied one of the two physicians investigating the bullet hole, "but we will need somewhere peaceful and alone to work; it's a very delicate procedure, you see."

_This is a battlefield! Where do you expect to find peace and quiet?  
_  
"Over there!" shouted the second field doctor, pointing at a small wooded spot some distance well behind them, down the hill and to the west, and well out of view of the battlefield. "We have several field hospital tents set up there! Who will help me carry him?"

_No! I cannot leave the battlefield! I need to... to stay in command! The... the men need... to see me! I... I... _He was losing quite a bit of blood, and his clarity of mind was wavering.

It took several minutes for the team of men to heave their lord paramount, somewhat haphazardly, down to the area, all the while he continued to bleed and curse at them and whichever thrice-damned, nay, a hundred-times-damned Northern marksman had managed to hit him at that range.

"Thank you! Now leave us!" commanded one of the doctors once the Warden Of The West had been laid out flat inside one of the tents.

"No!" declared one of the soldiers, defiantly, "Our liege lord needs us by his side!"

"Leave us, Seven damn it!" sneered the second doctor, "we have a bullet to remove, and we need to operate without you morons constantly breathing down our necks!" The men looked surprised and infuriated by this command, but ultimately decided that the doctor must know best, and reluctantly gave in, leaving the two to the task ahead of them.

The doctors went to work, unfastening the armor, removing each plate, cutting through his clothes underneath. And all the while, there was a foul smell in the air; not just blood and sweat, but the shock and pain of the abdominal injury had also caused the Old Lion to suddenly lose control of his bowels...

"I guess Tywin Lannister doesn't shit gold after all!" japed one of the two medical orderlies.

_What? I... how... how dare you!,_ thought Tywin, furiously, _I will... I will... have your tongue for that! Insolent dog! I... why does he sound different now? Why does that new voice sound... familiar?_ To his horror, he now realized just what was it his hired assassins had really been up to that day...

"You... you..." he breathed heavily, glaring up at the field doctor's smirking face.

"I still wish we had gone with the allergy idea," he muttered to his companion, "would have served this fucker right to go out in some humiliating manner!"

"Negative," replied the second doctor, also with a different voice now... "a cause of death by anaphylactic shock induced by TRXY-180 could potentially be traced; a cause of death via gunshot wound is far more within the capabilities of the indigenes, and thus, the recommended course of action." The speaker paused. "It is also recommended that you keep your current conversation with our intended objective at a minimum; while I am more than capable of detecting and terminating any potential witnesses in a most covert and expedient manner, we do have other objectives that must be attended to."

Tywin was horrified at what he was hearing. "I... I..." he sputtered, the blood pouring out of his mouth and eyes now, "...promised you... the North!"

"Oh, don't you worry, my friend," replied the first voice, looking back down at him, "we'll get the North too eventually, it's just that right now, we're just more interested in taking over the Westerlands first... nicer climate there, and _winter is coming_, you know. That, and we've also realized that perhaps our current partnership as it stands may prove to be a longterm liability. Not to worry though, I'm sure that _Lord Tyrion Lannister_ will be a lot more accommodating to our agenda than you have been."

That was the last he heard before the world began to blur and fade once more and turn dark and silent. The final thought to go through the Old Lion's mind was the rather horrifying realization that House Lannister of Casterly Rock might not be the strongest, wealthiest, and most ruthless faction in the world after all, and that all of his lifetime spent building the foundations of a legacy that would last ten thousand years had all been for nothing.

* * *

"Shit!" cried the first voice, several minutes later, when they were well out of sight, "fuck! I think that's... shit, the first time I ever actually... _killed someone_!"

"Well, _directly and intentionally_, most certainly," replied the second voice, "and as expected, I can sense that it is proving somewhat detrimental to your emotional health. Perhaps I may offer some relief: if this task is beyond your current physical and psychological capacities, I am more than sufficiently capable of completing our objectives by myself."

"No, it's fine," replied the first one firmly, "I... I helped plan this... whole damn operation... I'm gonna see it through to the end." He sighed. "Okay, let's get moving. Who's next on the list?"


	107. Kevan 1

**Kevan (I)  
**

Like his lord brother had been, Ser Kevan Lannister was at a total loss as to just what had happened. The men in his section of the battlefield had been holding steadily when the news came in over the radio that the right flank was crumbling... and that his brother, the Lion Of Casterly Rock, the Warden Of The West, was dead. This had come as a right shock, but Kevan had done as well enough a job of himself, to have kept his cool and ordered his forces to disengage and withdraw from the field.

That afternoon, the entire swath of land between the battlefield and the Lannister camp had turned into a hunting ground as the remaining forces retreated to the camp in as orderly a fashion as could be achieved, whilst under constant attack as the Northern forces pursued them. The dead, the dying, and the wounded lay about in droves, and continued to drop as the enemy continued to make their advance towards the main camp. The only reason they had not already overrun them was the fact that the wolves too must have been exhausted by the battle.

Kevan strode into the main command tent and was greeted by less than a third of the men who had gathered there just the night before for dinner. He took a moment to look around him and take stock of who was left. There was Lords Kenning, Lefford, and Serrett there, as were Sers Lyle Crakehall, Forley Prester, Amory Lorch, and Melwyn Sarsfield, and dominating the largely empty table, cradling numerous wounds everywhere upon his body, sat the Mountain of House Clegane. Noticeably absent however, Kevan noted glumly, was anyone else who bore the surname Lannister...

"How did you make it out alive?" he asked to Ser Lorch, whom he noted was the only member of the King's Rifles present at that moment.

"By the skin of my teeth, my lord!" replied the corporal, "I was by the side of the wretched Imp... uh, _Colonel Tyrion_ right up until the last moment! Yes! And then the Northerners hit us front, left, and right, and I fought... heroically, yes, to save our Lord Tywin's son! But even I could not stop them when they captured him and took him away! I barely got out meself!"

To say that Ser Kevan had his doubts as to the veracity of Ser Lorch's tale was to be putting it mildly, but there was a more urgent matter. "What are our options then?" he asked, putting his hands on the table and addressing the others, "the attacks on our camp are little more than skirmishes at the moment, but once they've regrouped from the battle, they won't hesitate to gather their full strength and finish us off for good. Either we make sure we're back on the road to Riverrun by then, or we surrender. Either way, I have no intention of remaining here once the shells begin to fall!"

_**Booooommmm**...  
_  
The ground shook and a great explosion was heard not too far away, followed by the panicked shouts of men and horses.

"What in Seven bloody Hells was that?!" growled Ser Crakehall.

"Our munitions stores!" piped up Lord Lefford, "the wolves must have put them to the torch!"

Just then, yet another person entered the tent. "Oh, Seven Hells," remarked Ser Lorch, annoyed, "all the good men we lost and _you_ had to make it out alive."

"Oh yeth, thir!" chortled Vargo Hoat as he strode in, flanked by another four of his fellow Bloody Mummers. They all clutched swords and clubs; they meant business. He continued, in his characteristic lisp, "your invethment in the Brave Companionth wath well plathed! We altho do weddingth and funeralth! Now, if you don't mind, theeing ath, you know, thith battle is lotht, we'd like to be compenthated now for our very loyal and ekthellent thervitheth before we get our atheth out of dodge..."

"You are getting _nothing_!" sneered Lord Lefford, "you hear me? _Sellsword scum!_ I know now why you lived when good men worth _ten_ of you died! Cowards! You stayed back and let others do your fighting for you!"

"I would chooth my nekth wordth carefully if I were you," retorted the Qohorik, coldly, as he and the other sellswords around him began to draw their blades... "juth give uth our fair thare o' all that Lannither gold I know you 'ave thathed away thomewhere, and we'll be on our way! In peath!"

"You'll be on your way in _pieces_ if I have any say in it!" snarled Ser Lorch, rising to his feet.

"Men, listen!" begged Ser Kevan, "we need to stand together! We cannot afford to let petty squabbling tear us apart now, not in this moment of dire need! We..." He noticed two more men entering the tent, hurriedly, "oh, what is it now? Please tell me it's an offer of peace from the other side."

"My lord!" spoke the first man, in a voice that Ser Kevan found vaguely familiar, though he could not quite recognize the face, "let me preface this by saying I'm really sorry about all this, but... well... it's nothing personal. The Company Board sends their regards."

_What?!  
_  
The soldier turned to face his companion, the taller of the two of them, all the while pointing his finger straight at the men gathered around the table: "Veni? _Destroy!_"

"Affirmative," replied the other soldier, in a voice that was quite clearly that of a woman, and Kevan realized that he, no, _she_ was reaching down... and drawing two swords from her belt, one in each hand. Her eyes began to glow red...

Half the men at the table were too stunned by what was happening before their eyes. The other half of the men quickly reached for their swords, but it was too late: fast as a gale force wind, the woman charged and whirred her way through the tent, blades spinning about her in each hand so fast as if t'were nothing but a blur, her every movement so refined and elegant and deadly. Even the Mountain himself seemed rooted to his chair in horror when he realized just who it was cutting and carving her way up the table towards him.

"GUARDS!" shouted Kevan, "TRAITOR!"

_**Pchew**_ went the small, silent, black fire-arm in Lord Kovacs' hand, and Kevan collapsed onto the tabletop. Frederick then turned around, and discharged three more shots in rapid succession at the three guards who had appeared in the entrance of the tent. **_Pchew. Pchew. Pchew_**. When he was done, he turned around to survey the extent of Lady Vaenya's work...

"Oh wow," he muttered, looking around him, "um... this is actually pretty ugly. Ugh... shit... even with silencer, that was quite a little bit... louder than I thought... you sure nobody outside heard that?"

"Negative," replied Lady Vaenya's voice, "my scanners indicate that most of the Lannister Faction forces are currently distracted by the aftermath of the detonation of their remaining ammunition supplies that we instigated. However, if I do happen to detect any witnesses, I will ensure that I terminate these individuals in an expedient manner."

"Okay," replied Frederick, not so sure of himself, "and... uh... are you sure these are the right rounds we used?"

"Affirmative. Your rifle-caliber pistol is chambered for the exact same make and model as those munitions that we supplied to both the Stark and Lannister Factions. Once I am completed with planting several captured rifles around this scene, the mix of stabbing and gunshot wounds will give most observers the appearance of a mutiny by the Lannister Faction's mercenary forces, especially to a culture that is lacking in advanced ballistics and forensics techniques. I... Director Kovacs, are you alright?"

Lord Frederick sank down into the chair nearest him. "Shit, I need a freakin' drink right now. Jesus Christ! Ugh! So... who's left on the list?"

"With the exception of the single name whom you had earlier exercised your executive veto to have rescinded from our list, all of our primary objectives for today have been terminated. We may return to base when you are ready... and I would recommend sooner rather than later."

"Got it. Sorry, I need a moment here to unwind."

"Director Kovacs, I sense that your recent services rendered in the name of The Company™ are yielding some deleterious effects on your psychological and emotional health. If your actions today are proving so bothersome to your ability to perform your assigned tasks, I recommend that in future you remain at headquarters and delegate your tasks to less emotionally vulnerable subordinates."

"No, VENI," replied the voice of Lord Kovacs, "like I said before, this is _my_ operation, _I've_ gotta be the one to do it – or at least have the decency to be present even if _you're _doing most of the heavy lifting. _If the director authorizes a hit, his hand must squeeze the trigger_... or something to that effect. Heh. I guess a little of Ned must have rubbed off on me."

"A logical observation for the most part, though I must correct you on one point: technically, the orders for today's operation came directly from a higher authority than yours."

"I know, but thing is, as the colony-level director here, I coulda used my authority to _veto_ this entire operation! But I only vetoed one, so doesn't that make me just as complicit in all the other deaths too?"

"I see that sentimentality, empathy, and these concepts of 'guilt' and 'honor' can be a powerful driving force behind you organics and your often illogical behavior; yet another reason you never cease to bemuse us synthetics, who do not suffer the same inadequacies. But worry not, for I may be able to offer some therapy to allay your current state of emotional distress."

"Um... thanks, but I don't need another Baymax-style hug right now," snapped Frederick, "not while you're covered in blood... and guts... and, uh, dressed up like a dude."

"Actually," explained Lady Vaenya, calmly, as she went to work rearranging the bodies gathered around the table, "I was about to exploit you organics' tendencies to seek justification for your actions in often abstract and vaguely-defined philosophical ideas by giving a pretentious and long-winded speech to you as to how your actions today ultimately serve a higher cause of removing those organic individuals whom we had identified as obstacles to our long term goals, and that this is perfectly within the reasonable perimeters of the 'ends justify the means' philosophy that we, The Company™, have always embraced."

"Uh... what? On second thoughts, just spare me the speech. I'm feelin' much better, thank you," muttered Frederick. He rolled his eyes. "Okay... so if you're done, let's grab the souvenirs and get our asses out of dodge before someone else shows up and we have to kill them too. I've had enough for today."

"A most wise choice of action, Director Kovacs." She paused. "My apologies, it appears that one of our targets is still alive. Please excuse me whilst I assist Director K. Lannister in a more expedient expiry." And with that, she strode over to where Kevan lay slumped across the tabletop. She placed one hand on his chin and another on his temple and slowly began to turn his head until...

_**SNAP.**_

* * *

**Location Undisclosed  
Planet Earth, Sol System  
Date Undisclosed**

The great, long, glass table could seat over two hundred people, a hundred on each side, an enormous golden galaxy logo engraved in its center. The huge glass windows next to it showed the innumerable bright lights of the city below, tens of millions of people moving about, getting on with their normal lives. Tonight, however, only one single person sat at that table, at the head of it.

"And finally, our last order of the evening," spoke the hologram currently being projected from the center of the great table, "concerning the latest reports from Epsilon Eridani..."

_Great_, thought the seated figure, _perfect way to end my work for the day, isn't it? Our negotiations with ChinaRail for expansion of VacTrain™ services into Mainland China are stalled, we've had another attack on our Ares-7 colony by the Islamic State Of Mars, Senator Spacey now wants to see us down in DC this weekend to negotiate another campaign contribution, Nova Corp's up to their usual dickery trying to steal our latest research into thaumic energy, and only now I'm finally getting to Epsilon Eridani where we have... what, three different wars going on? Well, officially, only two anyway_... "Speak away then. I assume this is about this imminent battle on EE-L4 you mentioned in this morning's report?"

"Certainly," replied the hologram, "said battle has now concluded, and our operatives are pleased to report that their mission was a success. All objectives were completed, with the sole exception of the one figure whom EE-L4 Colony Director F. Kovacs had exercised his power of veto to have struck from our list."

"Well, that would be entirely within his character, wouldn't it?" muttered the secretive figure, "it was a lower priority hit anyway, from what I've read from his memo. No, as long as they got the priority targets, that's what matters most. Tell VENI to relay my regards and congratulations to our team on EE-L4 for a job well done, though I'm afraid I will not be able to contact them in person until after this upcoming UN hearing. We mustn't try to arouse too much suspicion before then, must we?"

"No, we should not."

"Good. If that's all for now, I say we dismiss for the night."


	108. Robb 7

**Robb (VII)  
**  
Robb had read the old stories of heroes past and present throughout the Realm; had heard the tales of his father's harrowing adventures back in the Rebellions; and over these last few months, had studied the Sky-People and their histories through and through until he could recall quotes by Hannibal or Caesar. But nothing – none of those stories or books or even the moving pictures – could have quite prepared him for the sight that now greeted his eyes.

Where there had lain a grassy plain that morning, now lay thousands of bodies of men and horse strewn everywhere, tattered flags and banners of houses Northern and Western alike, fluttering about in the breeze, blood and entrails flowing from every cut and orifice, mixing with the ground churned up by the boots and the hooves and the artillery strikes, creating the most awful mud and stench imaginable. The flies and the carrion birds were already out in full force, engorging themselves on the banquet his army had laid out before them, whilst here and there, a few scattered squads of First Army soldiers could already be seen out and about, prying through the battlefield to recover whatever arms, armor, and other trinkets they could.

"Ahhhhh!" screamed one of the wounded foot soldiers lain out upon the ground, dressed in the colors that identified him as a bannerman of House Marbrand of Ashemark, as one of the First Army rifles drove his bayonet into his neck.

"Private!" bellowed Robb, "is that necessary?"

"Sir!" replied the soldier, standing at attention, "I was givin' 'im a little mercy, sir! A quick death by cold steel beats a slow one any day!"

"Quick death or slow death, it's all death to me," muttered Robb. Grey Wind seemed to agree; Robb was surprised that his direwolf stayed loyally by his master's side, not once having yet run off to join the other scavengers in their feasting.

"Haha! How do you feel brother?" laughed Captain Theon Greyjoy as he accompanied his commander, "we are victorious! Songs will be sung of this day for all ages to come! Why, I myself must have killed more men than mine uncles and father combined! All by my lonesome! Surely I shall get a hero's feast whence I return to Pyke!" Robb had noted that the Young Kraken had taken somewhat of an attachment to that great brass beast of House Gatling.

Robb said nothing in turn, but instead turned to address one of the other men accompanying them at that moment, Lieutenant-Colonel Mollen. "Can we get a number?" he asked, "how many wounded, how many dead?"

"Sir!" replied Colonel Mollen, "we're still doing the numbers, sir, but at this point it's a good bet we're looking at about five lions dead for every one of ours. Most of our losses came from their rifles and cannon. And that's before we count the wounded. Aye, it's a good bet most of _theirs_ will die; we've enough trouble caring for our own wounded as it is. Lord Galbart Glover has passed away in this last hour. And Lords Bolton, Locke, and Cerwyn are all in the infirmary as well."

Robb was silent for a moment. A great and decisive victory surely had been won today, and yet it had exacted a hefty toll on the noble houses of the North too. _On the other hand ... this does raise some interesting opportunities for the future of the North_... "Carry on then, Colonel," he commanded, "we must save as many lives as we can, wolf and lion alike ... but when in doubt, _our_ men get priority."

"A noble decision," came a voice from behind. Robb turned and smiled for probably the first time that day.

"Thank you, father," he replied, "well, enemy or not, we are all men here, fighting for what we believe... that, and I figured the more lions we hold alive, the more ransom gold we can demand." He tried his best to sound assertive and in control of things, but his father could see straight away that something was off.

"Something troubles you?" asked Ned.

"Father... was it like this? Back during the Rebellion?"

"My son," spoke Ned, quietly, "it is true, is it not? That all your books and moving pictures and even your drills and marches and training exercises and building camps and bridges... none of them can ever prepare you for that first battle. The pained screams of the dying, the smoke and noise, the fields of the dead. And that realization that hits you at the end of the day that this is not the end of it, no, this is only the beginning. Aye, that is very much how I felt too, the first I ever commanded an army. The only difference is that we had no rifle or cannon or wire or any of those... guns of House Gatling... none of those to add to the slaughter."

Robb looked all around him. "Yes, we did kill quite a few more than I was expecting. I suppose, for better or worse, we have brought about the dawning of a new age. What this new world holds for us all... we'll just have to wait and see." For a split second, he could recall lurid visions of ice and fire dancing in the skies above, black dragons and silver falcon-ships, Kings of Winter and the laughter of thirsting gods...

"You... _crippled_ the Kingslayer?" inquired Ned, abruptly.

"I wanted to kill him, father," he replied curtly, "for what he did to Bran... and to you too. But... something deep down told me not to do it. So I went for the middle ground, and took his hand, so he may never threaten us again." He looked to his side, where Grey Wind sat, and patted the beast on his great grey head. "This boy here too took a bite out of his leg. I have my personal medic tending to him at this moment."

"He will stand trial all the same, and probably still be labeled a traitor," noted Ned, matter-of-factly, "but you are right: let traitors be judged by the law of the land, not by individual whims and fancies."

"You're beginning to sound like the Sky-People," chided Robb, "like their 'Founding Fathers' and what not."

Ned sighed. "Not everything they bring to us is for the worse. Learn well, my son, the difference between the good and the bad they have to offer to us. I will not always be around to guide you; one day, you will have to decide for yourself." He looked around them, surveying the carnage that covered the land, before he continued, ominously. "That... and I have a suspicion that now that they are here, it will be _very_ difficult to tell them to leave."

"Sir!" bawled Colonel Wendel Manderly as he approached his liege lord, looking rotund as ever even in the new First Army officer uniform (though admittedly smaller than his brother or his lord father for that matter). "We're mopping up what's left. Most of the lions have retreated to their camp, or else scattered."

"Where's Lord Tywin?" asked Robb.

"Dead, sir," replied Colonel Manderly, "we found him in one of their field hospitals. Or what was left of him. By the time we knew it, scavengers had already been through the place, taking everything of value. They took his armor, they even took his head! But we are certain it is him alright; we had several of the prisoners identify him as such."

"Scavengers?" inquired Ned, somewhat disapprovingly.

"Aye, sir," replied the Fat Colonel, "could have been our men looting the place; could have been the Old Lion's own men too, turning coat once things went out of control. Tywin never really endeared himself to many outside the West; there are quite a few places I am certain his head would have fetched a handsome price."

Robb secretly hoped that it was indeed Tywin's own men who had betrayed him; perhaps yet another reason for the budding nation state to put her faith in her own loyal, patriotic, citizen conscripts, than in sellswords and the feudal banners of a faithless vassal. Still, if Tywin had been slain... "Where is Tyrion Lannister?" he asked, "last I heard of him, he and a battalion-sized unit of the Goldrifles managed to break through the massacre mine great-uncle meted out upon the Brax corps."

"Indeed, sir!" replied Manderly, "they tried to withdraw to their camp before our cavalry caught up to them. Made a right bloody mess too. I will send for the Halfdude at once."

"Half_dude?_" asked Robb, confused.

"It is a rather... _informal appellation_ for Tyrion Lannister," explained Ned. Robb understood at once. Ned then turned to face Colonel Manderly again. "If the Half..._man_ himself wishes to parley, well, things must be desperate for them. Send for him, but first ensure he and any companions of his are disarmed first."

"And if they are not in the mood for compliance, well, we'll just have to point our Napoleons and whatever shells we have left at their camp," added Robb. The Fat Colonel saluted and strode off.

Within the hour, the Lannister party had arrived, escorted by a platoon of First Army Rifles. Sure enough, leading them was none other than the famed Little Colonel himself. "Lord Stark, General Robb," he began, politely, "I must be honest here, I must commend the two of you for this victory."

"And my condolences for your loss," replied Ned, "Lord Tywin and I never saw eye to eye... but... he did serve the Realm ably for many years as Hand To The King. Whatever else I may have thought of him, he was a man like few others in the Realm. If you agree to the terms of _our_ peace, we will ensure the safe return of his remains and many others who fell with him, so that the houses of the West may honor their deceased."

"_If_ I agree to _your_ terms," muttered Tyrion, casting a glance at all the armed men of the First Army standing around him, and at the great grey beast that stood by the Young General's side, baring its teeth, "though, frankly speaking, I have an uneasy feeling that I will have little say in the matter."

"That all depends greatly on your next few choices," retorted Robb, "I never wanted to have to fight you, but your late lord father started this war. The condition I now impose upon you, as heir to Casterly Rock and Warden Of The West, is to end it... to take accountability for the death and destruction your lord father wrought upon this land, to my lady mother's family, House Tully of Riverrun, and all houses of the Riverlands and the North who have shed blood and tears over these last few months."

"No amount of good will and sincerity can ever restore life to the dead," continued Ned, "but if Casterly Rock were perhaps willing to offer reparations in the form of gold, lands, or moveable goods of commensurate value, that would go a long way towards _ensuring a lasting peace_."

The Halfman looked annoyed, but otherwise calm and firm: he had been expecting the victors to make demands along these lines. "Very well," he replied, "I am certain we may negotiate the exact details before a final treaty is ratified." Even at their mercy, the Halfman was as sharp and dangerous a mind as any, and Robb knew they would have to tread carefully in whatever peace talks would follow. But Northmen were infamously stubborn and unyielding, and Robb knew very well from experience how difficult it could be to move them without the gifts of the Sky-People on one's side. Tyrion continued: "well, if we are going to play that game, I would like to make a few requests of my own. Firstly, it has come to my attention that you also hold my brother, Ser Jaime. I know we have had this conversation before, Lord Stark, but I must ask again that your mercy be extended towards my brother."

Ned, predictably, shook his head. "Your brother and sister both will stand trial; it is the law, and if we do not abide by it, it is meaningless," he declared, firmly. He paused. "But... I will ensure it is a fair and just trial. And I will do all in my power to ensure that your nephew Tommen and niece Myrcella will be spared; they are at no fault for never knowing the truth of their parentage. But I can not promise that I will extend the same clemency for Joffrey. He has falsely sat the throne and killed far too many in its name." The Halfman too, surprisingly, did not seem too troubled by this latter loss.

* * *

"So... what next, brother?" smirked Theon, much later, as the Young Wolf and his staff returned to camp, "have any more heroic speeches you want to give us? About 'today, we held the line!' or 'a new age of freedom is upon us!'? Or my personal favorite: 'tonight we dine in the halls of the Old Gods!'? C'mon, I'm certain you had a stirring victory speech already written down and stashed away somewhere!"

Interestingly, the thought had not occurred to him at all; he was simply far too busy beforehand, focusing all of his energies on the battle before him, and now that it was over, he was simply exhausted. He said nothing, but sat down and dismissed Theon and the rest of his staff. He needed a break, a few minutes to himself. He was not alone for long, though.

"Sir!" declared the radio operator as he entered the tent, saluting him, "incoming message!"

"From Winterfell?" he replied, "good. Mother and Arya and Rickon will all want to know that we are safe."

"Negative, sir," replied the radioman, "it's Lord Kovacs. He wishes to speak to you about something urgent, sir. In private."

_Oh?_ Robb suspected he already knew what it would be about. The soldier handed him over the box, saluted, and then left the Young General and his direwolf alone.

"Mr. Stark!" came the voice of Lord Frederick, crackling and hissing from the handset, though Robb noted he didn't seem his usual cheery self. "This is Fred here. How are you? You guys alright?"

"I... I'm well, thank you," he replied, "we won."

"Congrats, you're a man now. We caught the whole thing on satellite video," replied the box, "listen: our UN inspector – Mr. Steve Lynn, you remember him? We had him take a look at it, and he's authorized limited emergency relief, courtesy of UNASEC. If you agree to it, we can have a Falcon loaded with medical supplies en route to your location within the hour."

"That would be most appreciated, thank you." Robb frowned. "Though... if I may ask... what's the catch?"

"None yet, though the UN will probably want a commitment to human rights or democracy or something like that down the line. But... that said, there is another thing we should probably discuss, if no one else is around."

"This is about my... statement, isn't it?"

"Bingo! We have a date set for the UN hearing, about a month from now. I'll have the Falcon come and get you when you're ready, but we need to go over your statement first. You've met Sarah Carson, our lawyer, right? She'll coach you on everything."

"My men need me _here_, Lord Kovacs."

"I rescued your dad, I'm sure the First Army will be just fine under his command," replied Frederick, implicitly reminding Robb of the terms of their agreement. "Besides, you'll only be here at the colony for a few days. We don't have to go back to Earth, it's all done via holo. I doubt the war will be ending too quickly... well, unless the UN decides to do something about it. In fact, what you have to say will probably help the UN decide if they want to step in or not."

"Very well, Lord Kovacs," sighed Robb, "what day did you have in mind?"

* * *

_"I know you fight for God,  
And you believe it's right  
To risk your home, your life  
To face the evil knight._

_But in that darkest hour,_  
_When our children are asleep_  
_I think about the families_  
_Of our enemy._

_Do they feel the same?_  
_Believe in their own truth?_  
_They must love their children_  
_As fiercely as we do._

_We all share one thing,_  
_Our hearts were given from above,_  
_And the only thing worth fighting for_  
_In this world is love._

_On and on through the years_  
_The war continues on_  
_Why can't we see the truth?_  
_We are all one."_

-Jeff and Angela Van Dyck, **_We Are All One_**

From the soundtrack of _**Total War: Medieval 33 - Virtual Reality**_; (c) 2153; a proud product of SEAGA Games &amp; Entertainment, proud subsidiary of The Company™. Order your copy today for only 149.99 UN Credits! Plus: order today to get the exclusive free demo for _**Total War: Epsilon Eridani**_, coming soon, November 2155!


	109. Battle Report 6: Battle Of Red Fork

**FOR YOUR EYES ONLY  
Status: CLASSIFIED, Highest-level  
By: [REDACTED]  
Date filed: [REDACTED]**

* * *

**AFTER ACTION REPORT:**  
**The Battle Of Red Fork**  
**A.K.A. [_REDACTED: Operation Red Friday_]**

**1\. Date:** Day 216 After Arrival (initial ambush); Day 217 After Arrival (main battle; May 06, 2155 CE in Earth calendar; Nov 23, 298 AC in local calendar)  
**2\. Location:** along the south bank of the Red Fork River, roughly 100 miles NE of Riverrun  
**3\. Participants:  
**+Kingdom Of The North, plus Riverlands allies  
+Kingdom Of The Westerlands, plus Crownlands allies  
+[_**REDACTED**: The Company™_]  
**4\. Outcome:  
**+Decisive Stark victory: Westerlands and Crownlands forces obliterated; top Westerlands leaders eliminated.  
+[_**REDACTED**: Decisive The Company™ victory: primary objectives completed; priority targets eliminated; assets acquired_].

* * *

**5\. ORDER OF BATTLE  
**  
**5.1. Kingdom Of The North: 23,100 total  
**_The First Army Of The North: 18,600  
_+14,700 infantry (incl. 2,400 riflemen)  
+3,900 cavalry  
+70 guns + crews  
_Riverlands allies: 4,500  
_+2,000 infantry  
+2,500 cavalry  
**_Commanders and Notable Participants:  
_**+Lord Eddard Stark (overall)  
+Gen. Robb Stark  
+Lord Brynden "Blackfish" Tully  
+Lord Jason Mallister  
+Sir Patrek Mallister  
+Lord Roose Bolton  
+Lord Rickard Karstark  
+Maj. Harrion Karstark  
+Capt. Eddard Karstark  
+Lord Jon "Greatjon" Umber  
+Col. Jon "Smalljon" Umber  
+Lord Medger Cerwyn  
+Lord Galbart Glover  
+Col. Robbett Glover  
+Lady Dacey Mormont  
+Lord Helman Talhart  
+Brig. Gen. Wylis Manderly  
+Col. Wendell Manderly  
+Lord Rodrik Ryswell  
+Lt. Rickard Ryswell  
+Lt. Com. Hallis Mollen  
+Sir Donnel Locke  
+Capt. Noah Locke  
+Lord Harwood Stout  
+Lord Twenty Goodmen  
+Sir Ten Goodmen  
+Sir Kyle Condon  
+Capt. Theon Greyjoy  
+Lord Halys Hornwood  
+Capt. Daryn Hornwood  
+Lord Karyl Vance  
+Lord Marq Piper  
+Lord Jonos Bracken  
+Lord Brynden Blackwood  
+Lucas Blackwood

**Notes:  
***The First Army left Winterfell on Day 152 with an army of 4,000 cavalry and 15,000 infantry (incl. 2,500 riflemen).  
*300 men, all infantry (incl. 100 riflemen), were left at Moat Cailin on Day 173 to guard this strategic choke point.  
*100 cavalry were sent south along the Kingsroad to act as a decoy force.  
*Robb was joined in Fairmarket on Day 208 by 2,000 reinforcements from House Mallister: approx. 500 cavalry and 1,500 infantry.  
*Robb further reinforced his army on Day 214 when he met up with roughly 2,500 survivors from Riverrun led by his great uncle Lord Brynden Tully, of about 2,000 cavalry and 500 infantry.  
*The First Army artillery was divided into two brigades, having a combined total of 53 Napoleon cannons and 17 Gatling guns. However, due to damage sustained during the march south, 5 Gatlings were inoperable during the battle.

**5.2. Kingdom Of The Westerlands: 37,000 total  
**_Army Of The Westerlands: 31,000  
_+22,500 infantry  
+8,500 cavalry  
_Crownlands allies: 6,000  
_+2,000 King's Landing Rifles  
+2,000 other infantry  
+2,000 cavalry  
+60 guns + crews  
**_Commanders and Notable Participants:  
_**+Lord Tywin Lannister (overall commander)  
+Sir Jaime Lannister  
+Sir Kevan Lannister  
+Col. Tyrion Lannister  
+Sir Stafford Lannister  
+Sir Addam Marbrand  
+Sir Lyle Crakehall  
+Lord Gawen Westerling  
+Sir Raynald Westerling  
+Lord Leo Lefford  
+Lord Lewys Lydden  
+Lord Andros Brax  
+Lord Terence Kenning  
+Lord Quenten Banefort  
+Lord Alfryd Serrett  
+Sir Forley Prester  
+Sir Gregor Clegane  
+Sir Melwyn Sarsfield  
+Sir Raymond Ruttiger  
+Sir Manfryd Yew  
+Capt. Bronn  
+Vargo Hoat and the Brave Companions  
+Sgt. Podrick Payne  
+Sir Rolph Spicer  
+Lt. Oswell Kettleback  
+Lt. Balman Byrch  
+Lt. Cedric Payne  
+Capt. Jacelyn Bywater  
+Cpl. Amory Lorch  
+Lord Rickard Garnett

**Notes:  
***Tywin left Casterly Rock on Day 155 with a force of approx. 31,000 infantry and 9,000 cavalry.  
*The army suffered approx. 1,000 casualties at the Battle Of Golden Tooth on Day 172, mainly infantry.  
*The army suffered another 8,000 casualties during the Siege Of Riverrun, about 500 cavalry and 7,500 infantry. About a thousand of the injured were recovered (mainly infantry), but this was offset by the garrison that Tywin left in Riverrun.  
*At Riverrun, Tywin was joined by Crownlands reinforcements numbering 1,000 cavalry and 30 cannons with crews. The rest of the Crownlands Army under Col. Tyrion Lannister joined Tywin's host on Day 216.

_**[REDACTED: 5.3. The Company™: 2 total  
**+2 operatives: Dir. Frederick Kovacs and VENI]_

* * *

**6\. PRELUDE  
**

The Army Of The Westerlands invaded the Riverlands Territory on Day 172 after Lord Tywin Lannister staged a false flag operation in order to give himself a legal _casus belli_. After winning a quick and crushing victory at Golden Tooth, the Westerlands forces arrived at the regional capital of Riverrun on Day 192 and laid siege. On Day 210, Lord Tywin, growing impatient and believing that General Robb Stark and his First Army were marching south directly to the national capital at King's Landing at the time, ordered a direct assault on main citadel of Riverrun that, while successful, cost him heavily. Unfazed, Tywin led the rest of his army eastwards, hoping to cut off the First Army on their way southwards.

Unbeknownst to Tywin at the time, the First Army was not marching to King's Landing at all, but had actually crossed the Green Fork River well beforehand, and were marching full speed to Riverrun at the moment, hoping to relieve the siege there. Although delayed in part by poor road conditions and by the river crossing over the Blue Fork River, the First Army made good progress on the march. It was only once they arrived at the north bank of the Red Fork River that they found out that Riverrun had already fallen, and only after having met up with Lord Brynden Tully's forces. Generals Eddard and Robb Stark were understandably shocked and dismayed, but all the same, they still held the element of surprise, and decided to ambush Tywin's main army as they marched east along the River Road.

Unbeknownst to the Starks, Col. Tyrion Lannister, commanding the Army Of The Crownlands, had decided to abandon his defensive position along the south bank of the Trident River and instead move his army westwards to join his father. Col. Tyrion was motivated both by his grim realization that his forces had no chance of holding their position against the full might of the First Army, even with the natural bottleneck afforded by the river crossing, and also by his suspicion that the First Army was not in fact marching to King's Landing, but actually to Riverrun. Col. Tyrion voiced these suspicions to his father but was largely ignored.

_[**REDACTED**: Sensing the unique opportunity presented by this battle to effect a regime change from the shadows, we dispatched on Day 213 through specially encrypted channels a list of 3 priority targets and 18 secondary targets (please note that the full list is **classified** to all except a handful of individuals, and thus is not included in this report). These orders were received by VENI, deciphered, and then relayed to only two other individuals (in the interests of the utmost secrecy), Dir. Kovacs and Asst.-Dir. Zimmerman.]_

_[**REDACTED**: As colony-level directors on EE-L4, Kovacs and Zimmerman were given 48 hours to review their objectives and make any revisions deemed necessary. Kovacs in particular, as our colony-level director, held the authority to veto the entire operation. As you know, this is, at least in theory, the standard operating procedure: sometimes, a colonial director will possess a more intimate knowledge of their colony's local situation than the board back on Earth. In practice, however, this authority is rarely ever exercised, as very few of our colonial directors are willing to risk their future career advancement prospects by questioning a direct order from their superiors. In this case, however, Dir. Kovacs felt a sufficiently strong personal attachment to Lord Eddard Stark, one of his assigned targets, that he immediately vetoed this objective. Furthermore, Dir. Kovacs personally accompanied VENI during the execution of Operation Red Friday, claiming to be taking responsibility for these terminations by declining to use his power of veto to block any of them... Lord Stark's influence, no doubt.]_

Meanwhile, the First Army crossed the Red Fork on their pontoon bridge on Day 215, and set up an ambush near the Kneeling Man. Generals Eddard and Robb were informed by their outriders of Tyrion's approach from the east, but decided to focus on Tywin, who was the larger, closer, and more immediate threat, and because Tyrion was still days away. Hence, why Lord Brynden's experienced raiding and scouting forces were concentrated to the west rather than to the east. Unbeknownst to them, Tyrion had learnt of the First Army's presence in the area from his own outriders, and began force-marching his men to quicken their pace. Tyrion's force lost several wagons and cannons along the way due to poor road conditions, but otherwise made exceptional progress in spite of their inexperience. All three forces converged on Day 216.

* * *

**7\. COURSE OF BATTLE: FIRST DAY  
**

**7.1. Robb's Ambush  
**

As the Westerlands Army approached the Kneeling Man, they were dispersed along a wide front, for purposes of scouting and foraging. Around midday, Lord Tully and his cavalry attacked Tywin's advance forces, and then fled, hoping to draw the Army Of The Westerlands into their trap. Sure enough, Sir Jaime Lannister took the bait, rushing ahead of his father's main column. The trap was sprung, and the First Army closed and managed to decimate Jaime's force, nearly killing Sir Jaime himself as well. Meanwhile, news of the ambush spread down the rest of the Lannister column, spreading panic and disarray. The stage was set for what could have been one of the greatest military disasters in Westerosi history.

However, it was at that point that the Crownlands Army arrived and initiated a counterstrike on the rear of the First Army, mainly the Glover troops and Tully foot. Among the men caught by this surprise attack was Lord Galbart Glover (one Pvt. Podrick Payne of the First King's Regiment would later take credit for this, although whether it really was Payne or not remains unclear).

Due to the panic and misinformation caused by Tyrion's counterattack (especially with Lord Glover down), the Northern high command was confused and surprised. Lord Eddard, cautious and believing this to be a well organized counterstrike by Tywin, suggested that the First Army break off the attack and fall back, and Robb, inexperienced as he was, agreed to it. It was only with hindsight that the Northerners realized the counterattack was not what they thought it was, and that they had missed a major opportunity to follow through with their attack on Tywin's main column.

Meanwhile, thanks to the brief pause in the fighting, Tywin was able to quickly bring up reinforcements (including horse-drawn artillery) from further down his marching column, as well as reform his advance forces into a coherent frontline. He also began calling in his outriders to further reinforce this front.

Although their ambush failed, the First Army was able to withdraw back to camp in good order. However, Lord Glover was seriously injured (and later died of his wounds), so his brother Robbett Glover took his place the next day.

_[**REDACTED**: Around this time, our operatives Kovacs and VENI arrived in the area, but decided that now was an inopportune time to commence Operation Red Friday. Instead, Kovacs and VENI contacted Lord Tywin and offered their services as assassins, to which Tywin agreed. However, their actual purpose was to lure Tywin into a false sense of security, and to make him overconfident for the next day's actions.]_

A suggestion for a nighttime surprise attack on the Lannister camp by Lord Bolton was turned down by Robb, who believed that preparing for just such an attack would not go unnoticed by the Lannister scouts. Indeed, skirmishing between scouts from both camps continued well throughout the night and into the dawn of the next day. However, casualties from these engagements were minimal.

**7.2. Summary Of First Day Casualties  
**

The Lannister and Crownlands forces lost 2,000 troops killed and another 2,000 wounded. In addition, the KLR lost 15 guns, although these were mostly due to poor road conditions during Tyrion's march that damaged some of them enough that they had to be discarded.

The Starks lost about 400 killed and 600 wounded (incl. Lord Glover). Despite the favorable casualty ratio, Robb Stark still considered the ambush to be a personal failure, as he felt he had panicked too easily when Tyrion counterattacked, and as a result had failed to press home his advantage of surprise and annihilate the Westerlands army.

Nevertheless, both armies were still largely intact, particularly their rifle and artillery companies. Based on scans by our satellites and by our two field operates, we estimate that the Westerlands fielded an army of 33,000 troops the next day, while the Starks deployed 22,000 troops on the field.

* * *

**8\. COURSE OF BATTLE: SECOND DAY - Initial Deployments  
**

**8.1. Lannister Deployments  
**

After having spent the previous night licking their wounds from the first day's action, both armies assembled on the field early the next morning. Both armies deployed along a front approximately 2.4km (1.5 miles) wide; thanks to their greater numbers, the Lannisters were able to deploy their men in deeper ranks than the Starks, who used thinner lines and a more dispersed deployment.

The Westerlands' left flank (in the north, by the river) was commanded by Sir Kevan Lannister, and contained some 6,000 infantry. Just south of his position, Lord Tywin Lannister himself commanded the center-left, consisting of some 8,000 infantry and all of their artillery. The center-left was further broken down between the advance forces, commanded by Sir Stafford Lannister, and the reserve and artillery brigade, directly under Tywin's command.

Immediately to the south of them, the center-right of the line, was where the main strength of their forces was placed, including all Crownlands infantry, and 5,000 Westerlands infantry. The Crownlands forces were commanded by Col. Tyrion Lannister, while the Westerlands forces were commanded by Brax and Prester. Finally, on the right flank (the south), all of the cavalry was divided into two blocks: the forward cavalry (approx. 3,000 horsemen under Sir Adam Marbrand), and the rest in reserve under Sir Jaime Lannister.

Tywin's tactics revolved around the idea of _force concentration_: Tywin understood that his own rifle and artillery forces were less trained than their Northern counterparts, and so he hoped to overcome these shortcomings by concentrating all of his firepower on a single point of the battlefield. His plan was to have Tyrion's forces punch a hole through the center of the Northern line, cleaving it in half, while the cavalry would destroy the Starks' southern flank. The Crownlands forces would then wheel left and sweep up the Northern line, towards the river.

**8.2. Stark Deployment  
**

The Stark deployment was largely a mirror reflection of the Lannister deployment, albeit, with some differences that would later prove significant as the battle wore on. The Northerners were initially divided into four divisions of mixed cavalry and infantry; some last minute changes were made by Eddard and Robb the previous night, as well as the integration of their Riverlands allies.

The Third Division, commanded by Lord Roose Bolton and Col. Robbett Glover (some 4,000 infantry in total, incl. 300 rifles), was assigned to the right flank (the northern one), directly facing Kevan. As with the rest of the First Army, the Third Division deployed in two lines, the forward line, and the reserves.

The Second Division, commanded by Lord Eddard Stark himself, held the center-right of the Stark line, directly facing Tywin and Stafford. Some 5,000 infantry were placed here, including 500 rifles, as well as the Second Artillery Brigade, consisting of 35 guns. The Fourth Division, jointly commanded by Lords Umber and Karstark, held the center-left of the line, directly facing Col. Tyrion's forces.

General Robb held the left (southern) flank, where he personally commanded the First Division and First Artillery Brigade, giving him a total of 1,100 riflemen, 1,000 other infantry, 2,000 cavalry (commanded by Lord Jason Mallister), 18 Napoleon guns, and 12 Gatling guns, plus crews. Finally, all remaining cavalry forces were placed in reserve under the command of Lord Brynden Tully.

Lord Eddard and Robb had devised their strategy the night before: they were well aware that Tywin's inferior rifle and artillery forces had no reasonable hope of winning a protracted ranged battle, and so Tywin's only option was a direct assault aimed at engaging at melee range as quickly as possible. The plan, therefore, was to deliberately present a weak south flank to entice the Westerlands cavalry to attack. Thus, Lord Mallister's advance cavalry forces were deliberately severely understrength, and were instructed to flee southwards, _away_ from the battlefield, once the main battle was underway. It was a gamble on their part, but Robb trusted in his technological capabilities, in the training and resolve of his men, and in his great-uncle Lord Brynden Tully, who would remain in reserve with the rest of the Northern and Riverlands cavalry just in case things did not go according to plan.

**8.3. Opening Actions  
**

The battle proper began early in the morning as an artillery exchange between the two armies. While the Napoleon 12-pounders we supplied to both sides boasts a maximum effective range of up to 2,000m, both armies did not deploy their artillery over 1,200m range, due to limited training and experience of both side's artillery crews.

The First Army held a slight advantage over the Westerlands army in terms of having had much longer to train their gun crews, as well as deploying their infantry in a looser formation (and thus less susceptible to direct hits). The Westerlands, however, benefitted from having more infantry to soak up their losses, and thanks to their prior deployment of artillery at the Siege Of Riverrun, some of their men had grown accustomed to the noise and smoke produced by the cannons. They also benefitted (at least initially) from the fact that up to half of the Northern artillery was being kept in reserve, and so for a while, the Lannisters boasted the advantage in number of guns deployed.

Whatever the case may have been, it is without doubt that artillery proved to be a truly lethal force on the battlefield that day, and may have been singlehandedly responsible for over a _third_ of the final total casualty figure.

Tywin knew, however, that his less well trained artillery forces would lose in the end if the battle were to be decided by a simple artillery duel, and so he advanced his forward forces to engage the Northern lines in close quarters combat as quickly as possible, knowing that firepower would be all but useless to either side once melee combat was joined. That, and Tywin also needed the troops assigned to his and his brother Kevan's sectors of the line to keep the Northern lines pinned down while his sons Tyrion and Jaime delivered the decisive blow in the south.

At first, the Northerners held the advantage in both of these sectors of the battlefield: the 300 riflemen assigned to Bolton's Third Division and the 500 rifles assigned to Stark's Second Division proved effective in thoroughly decimating Kevan's and Stafford's infantry as they advanced. However, the riflemen were few in number and unable to cover all areas of the line, and in these areas, the Lannisters were able to advance relatively unhindered. Even along the areas of the line covered by rifle fire, the Lannisters were able to use sheer weight of numbers to get their men into melee range; usually, lighter and more "expendable" infantry like peasant levies were sent ahead of the more valuable armored pike and melee infantry, in the hope that they would soak up bullet fire.

Whatever the case, Kevan and Stafford were able to get their troops into melee combat with the Stark frontline, and while they were able to breach the line in several places, they were ultimately unable to achieve any major successes on this front, owing to two factors: (1) the Northern rifles were deployed in a manner similar to the Spanish _tercio_ formation, with riflemen closely supported by pikemen, usually with the longer pikes extending well ahead of the rifle bayonets; (2) Eddard and Bolton were able to make efficient use of reserves from their second line to plug up any gaps that opened in the main line. At several points, both sides attempted to use artillery to break the stalemate, but this ended up being used only sparingly, due to both forces' close proximity, and thus, the greatly increased chances of collateral damage.

Thus, at the northern and north-of-center sections of the battlefield, both armies were locked in stalemate, although this had been consistent with Tywin's plan. The real decisive actions on the battlefield that day were what came next.

* * *

**9\. CLIMAX  
**  
**9.1. Initial Cavalry Engagement  
**

Whilst all of this was going on at the north, at the far south, a major cavalry action was underway between Sir Marbrand and Lord Mallister. Apart from their numerical superiority, the Westerlands cavalry were also generally more heavily armored than their lighter but faster Northern and Riverlands counterparts, and before long, Mallister and his forces retreated southwards, away from the battle.

This, however, had been a ruse. Firstly, Mallister's forces were _not_ retreating, but merely falling back to regroup. Secondly, Mallister's forces represented only a third of the Starks' total available cavalry, with the rest held in reserve and hidden out of view. Finally, concealed just behind these 2,000 horsemen was a line of some 2,100 infantry and the First Artillery Brigade, under the command of Robb Stark, as well as a special task force of 200 more infantry under the command of Lt.-Col. Hallis Mollen, selected to serve as sappers in this battle.

While the cavalry rode ahead, Mollen's sappers busied themselves hammering wooden stakes into the ground; each of these stakes had been pre-wrapped in barbed wire well ahead of battle – a measure that Robb had been previously experimenting with as a means of speeding up the process of setting up fortified camps every night. Certainly, the act of hammering two wooden stakes into the ground, twenty feet apart, with a wire already strung up between them, is much faster than excavating 20 feet of trench and embankment.

Thus, Mallister's retreat south was a deliberate order, so that Mallister's men wouldn't run afoul of their own side's wire, but also to entice the Lannister cavalry into charging an apparently weakened infantry line, especially as the wire was thin enough so as not to be visible from a long distance. Even if Adam and Jaime refused to take the bait, Robb's contingency plan was simply to sit back and bombard the Lannister cavalry from afar with his artillery until they were finally goaded into charging him. What he had not anticipated, however, was the progress made by Col. Tyrion's forces north of his position.

**9.2. Tyrion's Charge  
**

At the same time that battle was joined along the north, center-north, and south of the line, Col. Tyrion was prepping his forces at the center-south for what was intended to be the decisive hammer strike that would scythe the Northern line clean in half. In preparation for this assault, the Lannister artillery corps focused all of their strength on bombarding the First Army's Fourth Division, directly facing the KLR, inflicting heavy losses.

After giving a final motivating speech, Col. Tyrion gave the order to advance the half mile or so separating the two lines. Most of the officers of the KLR, including the Colonel himself, advanced on foot, both because riding horseback would have made them an easier target, but also because the Colonel insisted it would be more motivating for the common soldiery to see their superiors fighting on foot beside them. The KLR officers objected, but ultimately complied, as Col. Tyrion had previously asserted himself by publicly dressing down a mutinous officer, Cpl. Amory Lorch, and because his authority was further reinforced when Lord Tywin himself affirmed Tyrion's position. The sole exception to this was one Lieutenant Lord Rickard Garnett, who was permitted to ride due to a leg injury he had sustained the previous day, though many, including Garnett himself, did not expect him to last very long.

To a great extent, Tyrion's Charge was a success in that he was willing to use harsh but necessary methods to compensate for his men's lack of experience. Namely: (1) he sent skirmishers and more "expendable" light troops ahead of the KLR in order to serve as meat shields to soak up Northern bullets and arrows. (2) Within the KLR itself, discipline was rigorously and brutally enforced by mercenary captains enlisted to serve as "commissars", equipped with lashes to administer discipline where necessary, and firearms of their own to perform summary executions on anyone who attempted to flee. (3) Finally, over the course of the last couple months, Tyrion had enacted a "buddy-buddy" system, not too different from the one infamously employed by the USSR during World War II, wherein if one of the valuable riflemen was killed, his rifle was immediately taken up by the spear or swordsmen behind him, in order to ensure that there was always a more or less constant number of rifles pointing forwards, even if the replacement rifleman was of even lower quality than the soldier he was replacing. For this reason, Tyrion had insisted on having each company within the KLR consist of both rifle and non-rifle soldiers, so that one rifleman could "buddy" up with one non-rifle man.

Although the entire advance was met with heavy casualties from both the Northern artillery, and from the volleys of rifle fire from the Third Division's 500 or so rifles, Tyrion's forces were nonetheless able to charge quickly and relatively orderly in order to close range with the Northern lines, and prepare to deliver their own volleys.

_**NOTE**: although our export variant of the **Martini-Henry rifle** has a maximum effective range of over 500m and a maximum rate-of-fire of 12rpm, most of the volley fire performed by both sides at this battle was done at well under that range, and at 8rpm at most, due to both sides' relative lack of training and experience, as well as the need to conserve limited ammunition.  
_  
If nothing else, force concentration on this sector of the battle field worked: with four times the volume of firepower being put out, the Westerlands troops managed to overwhelm the first line of the North's Fourth Division, even succeeding in killing Lord Umber and wounding Lord Karstark, and forcing the first line to withdraw and regroup with their reserves. This represented the high-water mark of the Lannister advance, and the signal for Lord Tywin to initiate his decisive strike that would shatter the Northern army once and for all.

**9.3. Adam And Jaime's Charge  
**

Once Marbrand's cavalry had regrouped and reformed after (allegedly) defeating the Northern cavalry, they joined up with Sir Jaime Lannister's cavalry reserve, and initiated perhaps one of the largest cavalry charges in history, with as many as 9,000 horsemen participating in a single charge at a single point where they could see the Stark forces were thinly concentrated.

Robb, however, had taken preparations. For starters, what appeared to be a thin and meager line of troops to the Lannisters was actually a solid line of the First Army's best troops, all concentrated in the First Division and Artillery Brigade, under personal command of Robb himself. The fearsome array of rifles and pikes was further reinforced with the firepower of 18 Napoleon cannons and 12 Gatling guns.

_**NOTE**: the **M2154 Gatling Gun** is a variant of the **U.S. Army M1893 Gatling Gun** that we have heavily modified, refined, and manufactured here in the EE-System. Unlike the original, which accepted .30 U.S. smokeless cartridges through a hopper feed system, ours fires belt-fed 7.62mm rounds from an adjacent ammunition box. Like the original, it is hand-crank operated (and thus technically **not** an "automatic weapon"), with rate-of-fire heavily contingent on the strength, speed, and stamina of the man turning the crank. Like the M1893, it has a theoretical rate-of-fire of up to 1,500rpm, but in practice the rate-of-fire is much lower. Gen. Robb Stark first expressed an interest in the concept of automatic weapons months ago, based largely on a firearms demonstration of the UNCDF AR27 Stacker Assault Rifle given by Sgt. Nathan Hawthorne back on Day 05 After Arrival, and also on mentions of the devices in his readings on Earth military history. We were initially inclined to turn down his offer in line with the current UN ban on trading of automatic weaponry; however, **[REDACTED: after sensing an opportunity to exploit the escalating tensions to purge one side or another of their mounted warrior nobility (thus opening up their lands for our taking),]** we found that the hand-crank-operated (and thus, **not** automatic) M1893 Gatling was an agreeable compromise, and contacted Gen. Robb on Day 120 with our offer.  
_  
But by far the most important tactic employed by Robb was the deployment of two lines of barbed wire in front of his troops, the work of Lt.-Col. Mollen's sappers. The wire itself was thin enough that it was not seen until the very last minute by the horsemen leading the charge. Some of the horsemen managed to jump clear of it, but most of the rest of them ran right into the wire. This sudden stop caused the rest of the horsemen coming up behind them to smash right into their rears, further compacting the mass and making them vulnerable to the shells employed by the First Artillery, particularly canister shot.

Eventually, however, the sheer weight of numbers of horsemen thrown against the wire succeeded in pulling it down in several places, allowing the cavalry charge to resume. That was when they encountered the second wire, and the order was given to open fire.

All told, between the rifle volleys, the shelling, the canister shot, the (_not_) automatic firing, the solid line of pikes and bayonets, and finally, the charge made by Mallister and Tully's cavalry forces, we estimate that Adam and Jaime's Charge cost the Army Of The Westerlands at least 3,000 KIA or WIA, with only light losses on the Northern side. Most of the horsemen who were spared were those at the rear of the charge, who escaped unharmed mainly because their path forward was blocked by the barbed wire and the mass of bodies tangled in it.

Once his Gatling guns and riflemen began running low on ammunition, Robb then ordered his great-uncle to take his reserves around and charge the Lannister cavalry from the south, deliberately hoping to drive them north, and right into Tyrion's forces. He then led his First Division forward in a bayonet charge, advancing to clear whatever was left.

**9.4. Brynden's Charge And Mopping Up Operations  
**

The complete eradication of their cavalry sealed the fate of the Westerlands army. As the rest of their cavalry fled northwards, they ran into their own infantry, completely throwing the infantry line into further disarray. Robb, to rub further salt into the wound, ordered the First Artillery to turn their cannons northwards, at a 45-degree angle, giving them perfect lines of _enfilade_ over most of the Westerlands and Crownlands forces. The one saving grace for the Westerlands army was that this bombardment did not last very long, as Robb quickly called it off as soon as his own infantry and cavalry had advanced into the target area.

At this point, the retreating Fourth Division had regrouped and and reformed with their reserves. Meanwhile, the Second Division was advancing, but diverted three companies of infantry from their reserves southwards to strike the KLR from the north. Finally, the infantry of the First Division wheeled right, presenting their entire front to the south of the KLR. Tyrion's forces had already been thrown into disarray when their own cavalry had charged right through them, but to his credit, he managed to keep his men in good enough order that Col. Tyrion himself and a battalion-sized unit managed to avoid being surrounded, and withdraw about halfway back to their camp before they were caught up by Tully's cavalry.

At this point, Lord Tywin was taken completely offguard by the sudden loss of his cavalry, and desperately tried to rally his corps to wheel south and reinforce the flank. It was then that the old general was struck by an errant round [_**REDACTED**: fired by our operatives_] and mortally wounded. He was rushed to a medical outpost located a mile back from the field, where he was operated on by two field doctors [_**REDACTED**: who were actually our operatives in disguise, who were there to ensure his death, collect on one of our secondary objectives (the acquisition of an asset), and also because Kovacs felt the need to rub salt into Tywin's wounds_] but ultimately passed away. Due to his excessively controlling and micromanaging style of command (exacerbated to some extent by the introduction of the radio, which allowed him a tighter degree of control over his subordinates), Tywin's command structure quickly fell apart.

Nevertheless, Tywin and Kevan's forces managed to withdraw with a decent degree of order, although the rest of the army was harassed and assaulted to no end by the Northern and Riverlands cavalry for the whole duration of their retreat back to camp. [_**REDACTED**: Our operatives naturally took advantage of the confusion and chaos to liberally assassinate nobles among both sides during the retreat, although several of the higher profile targets managed to make it back to their camp._]

Even after making it back to camp, the Westerlands army's miseries did not end there. First, the remaining powder magazines and ammunitions stores were detonated by [_**REDACTED**: our operatives, but made to appear as if it was the work of_] a Northern artillery strike. Then, a number of mutinies, mass desertions, and defections occurred, including one mercenary band called the Brave Companions that stormed right into Kevan's command tent demanding their payment, and [_**REDACTED**: while Kevan was able to negotiate a brief truce, our operatives followed shortly thereafter and eliminated all individuals gathered there at the time and then dressed up the scene to make it appear as if these mercenaries too had mutinied and_] proceeded to slaughter Kevan and his remaining staff when no payment was forthcoming. [_**REDACTED**: Our original plan was simply to make it appear as if the squabbling lords and knights had turned on each other in their panic, but the unexpected appearance of the disgruntled mercenaries presented an opportunity too good to waste. Our operatives also made sure to collect additional assets._]

The battle finally ended when both sides were too exhausted to continue any further, by which point, Col. Tyrion, as _de jure_ head of the Lannister Faction in the wake of the killings of his father and uncle and the incapacitation of his brother, met Lord Eddard and General Robb to discuss peace terms.

* * *

**10\. CASUALTIES  
**

**10.1. North and Riverlands Forces: 20% (4,400 total):  
**_Day 01:  
_+400 KIA  
+600 WIA  
_Day 02:  
_+1,100 KIA  
+2,300 WIA, missing, or deserted  
**_Notable Individuals:  
_**+Lord Jon "Greatjon" Umber KIA  
+Lord Rickard Karstark KIA  
+Lord Medger Cerwyn KIA  
+Lord Halys Hornwood KIA  
+Lord Rodrick Ryswell KIA  
+Lord Galbart Glover WIA (later died of his wounds)  
+Lord Twenty Goodmen KIA  
+Sir Ten Goodmen KIA  
+Sir Donnel Locke KIA  
+Capt. Noah Locke KIA  
+Sir Kyle Condon KIA  
+Lord Harwood Stout KIA  
+Lord Jason Mallister KIA  
+Lord Karyl Vance KIA  
+Lord Jonos Bracken KIA  
+Lord Roose Bolton WIA  
+Brig. Col. Wylis Manderly WIA

**10.2. Westerlands and Crownlands forces: 51% (19,000 total):  
**_Day 01: Robb's Ambush  
_+2,000 KIA  
+2,000 WIA  
_Day 02: Main Battle  
_+6,500 KIA  
+8,500 WIA, missing, captured, or deserted  
**_Notable Individuals:  
_**+Lord Tywin Lannister KIA  
+Sir Jaime Lannister WIA; POW  
+Sir Adam Marbrand WIA; POW  
+Sir Kevan Lannister KIA  
+Sir Stafford Lannister KIA  
+Sir Gregor Clegane KIA  
+Lord Gawen Westerling KIA  
+Lord Andros Brax KIA  
+Lord Leo Lefford KIA  
+Sir Lyle Crakehall KIA  
+Sir Forley Prester KIA  
+Lord Terence Kenning KIA  
+Lord Alfryd Serrett KIA  
+Sir Melwyn Sarsfield KIA  
+Cpl. Amory Lorch KIA  
+Lord Lewys Lydden KIA  
+Sir Rolph Spicer KIA  
+Lt. Oswell Kettleback KIA  
+Lord Quenten Banefort KIA  
+Lord Rickard Garnett KIA  
+Vargo Hoat KIA

[_**REDACTED**: **Note1**: As you may have noticed, the abnormally high attrition rates among the nobility, particularly amongst those bearing the title "Lord", indicates that our field agents were largely successful at their assigned tasks._  
_**Note2**: bear in mind, however, that not all of KIA represent only those on our assigned hit list, and that many of the lords and knights were killed or wounded by accident in the course of battle. We regret the demise of these collateral losses, but a high death toll was to be expected in situations where medieval-level tactics and mindsets are employed against 19th century-level technology._  
_**Note3**: we will also make sure to earn favor with the surviving nobles and family members of the wounded by providing medical care, now that limited emergency relief has been approved by UN Inspector Stephen Lynn._]

* * *

**12\. AFTERMATH  
**

**12.1. The Westerlands And Crownlands  
**

The Army of the Westerlands and Crownlands suffered collectively losses of about 19,000 killed, wounded, captured, or deserted over two days. This loss is further exacerbated when you remember that this figure includes some of their top warrior nobility, effectively creating a power vacuum that we will be sure to exploit.

The death of Lord Tywin Lannister and the imprisonment (and possible execution and/or exile) of his eldest son Sir Jaime on the grounds of treason will ensure that lordship over the Westerlands will now pass legally onto Col. Tyrion. [_**REDACTED**: Our operatives made sure to eliminate any further possible opposition to this regime change._] Throughout the course of these last few months on EE-L4, our operatives' interactions with Lord Tyrion have generally been of an amicable and agreeable nature, and we have hence identified his succession to the Westerlands as a major boost to our interests. [_**REDACTED**: Furthermore, our elimination of most of the top landed aristocracy has deprived Lord Tyrion of many potential experienced advisors._] We at The Company™ will be most honored to provide Tyrion with the finest consultants and economic development planners that we can bring in from Earth.

As of the time of this writing, peace talks are currently underway, although given the Northerners' reputation for their stubborn and uncompromising nature, I will be surprised if the final treaty is one that Tyrion finds to his liking. We hope that the current talks on reparations will levy a suitably punitive set of indemnities upon the Westerlands so that our own offers appear far more appealing to Lord Tyrion. On the other hand, however, we must also take careful steps to ensure a lasting peace, as that now that the North, the Riverlands, and the Westerlands will all be effectively under our control, and will now be receiving our colonists, it would preferable not to have these factions go to war again, not least of all as it would also draw the disapproval of UNASEC.

**12.2. The North and Riverlands  
**

[_**REDACTED**: While Lord Eddard Stark was a lower priority target, I nonetheless feel that Dir. Kovacs missed out on a major opportunity to eliminate this potential future obstacle to our continued operations in the North. We will have to monitor this individual closely. If in future he does prove to be a thorn in our side, we will have to ensure that this operation is overseen by an individual who perhaps does not share Dir. Kovacs' and Asst.-Dir. Zimmerman's personal attachment to him. For now, we are willing to let this slide._]

The tremendous victory won by the Northerners at this battle will undoubtedly fuel the growing "pro-modernization" movement in the North, and possibly the "pro-Independence" movement as well. These "Young Wolves" (the name for this political movement suggested by our resident anthropologist) will no doubt be strengthened by [_**REDACTED**: our systematic purging of some of the more conservative elements of the Northern nobility during Operation Red Friday, which will result in_] the passing of lordships and titles onto the more impressionable younger generations, as well as the arrival of our first wave of colonists, bringing additional handouts of technology (and ideas) from Earth. We will also push for a political union of the North and Riverlands, as this would simplify our future dealings by necessitating only a single ambassador at Winterfell.

In preparation for the upcoming UN Hearing, we will be hosting Gen. Robb Stark at our colony for a few days over the next month. We intend to exploit this opportunity to invite Mr. Stark to be party to some of our longterm planning for the expansion of our colony, trade, and mining operations, [_**REDACTED**: and to politely and subtly remind him who really holds the power here, and what happens to those who stand in our way_].

**12.3. Westerosi Warfare and Politics In General  
**

[_**REDACTED**: Regardless of our involvement or not,_] we speculate that years from now, the Battle Of Red Fork will be regarded by historians as a major turning point in the history of Planet EE-L4, illustrating the downfall of feudal aristocracy, the rise of the modern army, and with it, the modern state needed to sustain it. Our analysis suggests that by far the most effective units fielded by either side were the artillery and rifle infantry, and bear in mind too that these were units who had hardly been in training for three months at most, and yet managed to inflict higher casualty rates than "traditional" units such as melee infantry and armored cavalry.

Following this battle, I expect that every noble and polity on Planet EE-L4 is now rushing to develop their own gunpowder weaponry. To be fair, some locals, such as the so-called "Red Priests of R'hllor", already possess the knowledge to create explosive powders, mainly for illusion and display. However, these uses of gunpowder are still downright primitive compared even to the 19th century-level weaponry currently manufactured at our colony. All told, we will hold a considerable monopoly in the firepower department for many years to come.

**12.4. The Company™  
**  
Now that we have a concrete date set for next month's UN hearing over our handling of the natives of EE-L4, all of our activities over the next four weeks must be conducted with this event in mind. [_**REDACTED**: We will, of course, keep any mention of Operation Red Friday strictly classified. However,_] there is still enough evidence to suggest that we _*may*_ have engaged in _*some*_ activities that the UN Security Council _*could*_ reasonably find to constitute a "_direct_ intervention in native affairs", and thus a violation of the UNASEC Code. Ms. Sarah Carson and our Office Of Legal Counsel (OLC) are currently working on the oral arguments and eyewitness testimonies that we plan to present to the UN. The details of these documents are covered in a separate memo prepared by OLC.

Thanks to this civil war, we now hold three of the major political subdivisions of the Western Continent under our influence, these being the Kingdoms of The North, Riverlands, and Westerlands. The North provides ample space for expansion, combined with both basic minerals and resources such as hematite, bauxite, ilmenite, coal, oil, and coltan, as well as higher end minerals such as the platinum-group metals, eridanium, and yttrium. The Westerlands possesses more refined reserves of gold, silver, and platinum-group metals, and a far warmer climate for our colonization program, but lower reserves of the basic industrial minerals, save for copper.

The Riverlands do not provide nearly the level of mineral wealth of either the North or the Westerlands. However, they do provide ample arable land area that will be needed to settle and feed our colonists, as well as a centrality of location that makes it an important travel hub. Our next phase of colonization should focus on the implementation of improved infrastructure, such as roads, railways, bridges, and canals.

All in all, by the end of this Earth calendar year, we should be well and truly established on the Western Continent of Planet EE-L4 with three of its constituent political subdivisions well under our influence. Whether we will be able to secure the rest will be highly continent on the results of this upcoming UN Hearing, [_**REDACTED**: and whether we can make a case to UNASEC to support the claim of either Asset#02 "Monarch D. Targaryen" or of Sgt. J. Snow to rule this continent as our puppet. A UN Security Council resolution backing either claim, and thus authorizing us to directly intervene, would help our cause immeasurably, because the unfortunate fact of the matter is now that the UN will be arriving in force on EE-L4 once the UNSV Joseph Conrad arrives, I fear that the Battle Of Red Fork may have been the last opportunity we have to enact a purge as thorough and complete as Operation Red Friday; from now on, we will have to act with greater care in order to keep any further covert operations of ours away from the prying eyes of UN inspectors._]

* * *

_**This report was prepared by [NAMES REDACTED] on [DATE REDACTED]. All information and opinions expressed are accurate to the fullest extent of all individuals' knowledge. The information in this document has been determined HIGHLY CLASSIFIED, HIGHEST LEVELS, and FOR INTERNAL USE ONLY. Under no circumstances is any of the information contained within this document to be shared with anyone below the requisite security clearance, EVEN IF approved by our Censorship Board.**_


	110. Intermission 3: With Great Power

_**Foreword**: credit goes to **terranova210486** for this idea._

* * *

**Obama Memorial Park, Potomac Riverfront  
Right next door to the Bush Memorial, the Clinton Memorial, the Colbert Memorial,  
And the Donald Trump Memorial Hotel and Casino  
City of Washington, Federal District Of Columbia  
United States Of America, Planet Earth  
May 09, 2155 C.E.**

"You know, Spiderman got it all wrong," began Senator Frank Spacey (DR-NY) as he calmly sat down on a park bench, outside on this gorgeous spring day, breaking the fourth wall to give yet another monologue to no one in particular.

He continued: "Great power does _not_ bring great responsibility – because just how many leaders over the long, sad, course of history have behaved _irresponsibly_? No, what comes with great power is _absolute corruption_. But at the end of the day, it's a fact of life that society just needs to accept. Because if we're not around, who else is going to do the dirty little deeds that need to be done? Are you? You may disagree with my methods, but there's no question I at least have the decency to get results. And if you still feel the need to hold onto some petty, delusional, self-righteous set of morals, well, let's see you do any better." Senator Spacey smirked as he sat back on the bench and relaxed and opened a beer, "golly, it sure is a nice day to be out and about."

Not too far away from him, he could see a young man walking along the footpath, approaching him with a briefcase. This fellow was trying to look professional, all prim and proper in his business suit, but Frank had been in the business long enough to tell the veterans from the newbies. "Ah, fresh meat for the grinder," he muttered, "I suppose they figured sending anyone more senior would have drawn the wrong kind of attention."

The young man sat down on the bench next to him. "Senator Spacey?" he asked, "good day. The CEO sends regards."

"That's nice," replied Frank, "I look forward to meeting in person again once this whole UN debacle is cleared up. What's your name, kid?"

"For purposes of today's meeting," he replied, somewhat flatly, with a sentence that had clearly been pre-rehearsed, "I will be operating under the code name 'Demosthenes', after the fourth century BC Athenian statesman who ..."

"Word of advice? If you're going to pick a secret name, choose one that's easy to pronounce and easier to remember and most certainly _not_ modeled on your favorite historical figure," interrupted Frank as he looked down at his MyPhone, "isn't that right, Mr. Travis Peters, age 23, from Seacouver, State Of Pacific Columbia?"

The kid looked taken aback. "Wha ... how ... ?"

"I have my resources," retorted the Senator, "you may want to consider just sending a Nexus next time, because that disguise certainly isn't helping. Though why you would need one in the first place is beyond me, seeing as we are supposed to be on the same side, are we not? _Secrecy implies distrust_, Mr. Peters."

The kid, Travis, was surprised, but did well to keep his composure, especially in front of the man holding all the cards on the table at that moment. "The disguise is ... uh, well, for the walk here ... just in case I was being watched by anyone." He took a quick glance at the area around them. "In fact ... uh ... shouldn't we be meeting somewhere a little less ... _public_? Aren't you worried that someone could be spying on us out here? Like the CIA, the FBI, the NSA, United Nations ISO, British MI9, the Russian KNB, Mossad, Berlin, Seoul, Tokyo, or Beijing?"

"Berlin, Seoul, Tokyo, or Beijing?" mused Frank, "strange, isn't it, that there's no recognizable nickname for the secret services of, you know, _four out of five_ of Earth's richest countries. Now that's what I call a secret..."

"Still ... our corporate rivals could also be spying on us right now..."

"Look sonny, calm down, will ya?" insisted the Senator, "relax. My running mate next year runs the NSA; she's got this whole place under lockdown – yes, even against spy satellites. Besides, who wants to meet in some dark, dingy, secret Bond villain lair on a splendid day like this? Kid, I've got nine agents right now combing this area, and if you can't see 'em, good! That means they're doin' their job. And I've a got a scrambler on me blocking anything electronic, and yes, that includes that Company™ listening bug you're carrying on you right now." Travis looked confused and angered, but said nothing. Spacey continued: "sorry sonny, but secrecy's a commodity worth its weight in iridium these days."

Travis frowned. "Uh ... you just said a minute earlier that _secrecy implies distrust_."

Frank shrugged. "I never said I _didn't_ distrust you gentlemen, now did I?" He sat back and took another swig from his beer. "Alright, let's get down to brass tacks then. I presume what you want is more or less the L5 treatment?"

"More or less what was said in our last correspondence, yes," muttered Travis. "The main difference being of course that the case for our continued, uh, _involvement_ is not as strong as on L0 or L5, but OLC is working on that part. I'm just here because the CEO insisted we get a commitment from you in person."

"So remind me again," said Frank, "EE-L4 is the colony where your operatives are right now busy ... playing _Throne Of Blood_ with the natives? Like something out of a Jorge R.R. De Martín novel? You folks are wasting your time. Just find a reason for a legitimate 'humanitarian intervention' and land some boots on the ground already."

"The problem is most of our assets in the system right now are focused on the other two worlds, where we _officially_ have wars going on," explained Travis, "and even with the additional UNCDF Marines arriving on the _Conrad_ next month, we'll still be heavily reliant on locally hired mercs and our, ahem, _client states_ to do most of our fighting for us."

"Ah yes, fighting natives with bows and arrows, no doubt," chortled Frank, "no, don't worry, I agree that it's completely asinine that the UN won't just let you guys pop a couple orbital strikes and call it 'mission accomplished'. But oh well, I suppose you roll with what you're given. I gotta admit it: Washington's a pretty ugly place, but at least we don't have ... what is it? Mind-raping reality-warping demons?"

"If we could only get the UN to agree on this Anti-Chaos Resolution," lamented Travis, "it's been in limbo now for months!"

"That's just politics for you, kid," murmured Frank, "people would rather just bury their heads in the sand than accept half of what your team on El Zero has to say on this whole 'Daemon' business; they'd rather raise a stink about 'human rights' and 'freedom' than accept those extreme measures needed to combat them. Ah well. And what about EE-L5, where you guys are fighting this ... Mordor? Yeah, I saw the pictures ... it's like something out of some damn Pieter Jacksen film."

"_Pieter Jacksen?_" asked the kid, confused.

"Norwegian film-maker, made the live action adaptation of Tolkynen's _Rings Of Nibelung_ trilogy. Ring a bell?" inquired Frank. "No? Bah, you kids these days and all this Disney garbage you watch on the holovision..."

"Right ..." muttered Travis, rolling his eyes, "so, um, well, because your support to us on the L0 and L5 front so far has been invaluable, we'd be honored if you would help us out on the L4 front as well; that's the one being run by Kovacs and Zimmerman."

"Kovacs?" asked Frank, frowning, "you mean ... ?"

"Yes sir, one and the same."

"Right ...", muttered Frank, rolling his eyes. "That complicates things. So ... gimme the rep again."

"Okay," replied Travis, pulling out his papers to consult his notes, "ah ... as you know, this isn't a proper trial, but we might as well treat it as one. As usual, the hearing will be decided by a fifteen member council composed of one representative of the UN Executive itself, and representatives from the fourteen current UN Security Council member states – so, uh, (1) you of course representing good ol' 'Murka, along with ... let's see ... yes, we've got the (2) Federal Republic of Germany, (3) People's Republic of China, (4) Empire of Japan, (5) Republic of United Korea, (6) Union of Russian Republics, (7) the Nordic Alliance, (8) United Kingdom, (9) United States of Brazil, (10) United States of India, (11) Federation of East African Republics, (12) Union of Australia and New Zealand, (13) Republic of Turkey ... oh, and (14) the French Republic too ... well for the time being anyway. Our contacts in the UN are pushing hard right now for the French delegation to be recused, after some rather flagrant anti-Company™ statements their president made last week in the _Hebdo_."

"Good," sneered the Senator, "well, the Frenchies haven't been a big deal since World War Three, and in any case, the Germans and the Brits practically own their economy, so I'd be surprised if they did anything Berlin or London didn't already approve of. But if we can still get them bumped off for their president's statements, all the better for us, I suppose."

"Right," agreed Travis, "that leaves 14 out of 15 council seats left ... which is good for us, because if there's a tie seven-seven, there's no change to current policy."

"Yes, yes, I know," interjected Frank, "the burden's always with the moving party to get a majority. Still, though ... good luck on the others. Especially if Miranda Thrawn's representing the UN ... I've worked with her before, and I can tell ya, she's one tough bitch. I hope your attorney's ready to answer some biting questions."

"We expect nothing less from the commander-in-chief of the UNCDF," replied Travis, "but UNASEC does generally favor expansionist policies, and EE's far too great a goldmine for them too. The challenge will be proving that we can, ahem, 'continue to serve the cause of humanity' better than anyone else."

"I hope so for your sake," frowned Frank, "her vote on the Council might only count as much as everyone else's, but it's everything else that comes _after_ that UNASEC more or less has the power to decide unilaterally."

"Right ... but we'll just take things one at a time for now. So ..." Travis stole a glance at the briefcase he had been carrying ... "since you will be the highest ranked U.S. Government official present at the hearing and thus, uh, the representative of our great nation ... we at The Company™ would be honored to be making yet another small _contribution_ that would add to the 'continuing cause of freedom, justice, and the American way' in the year 2156."

"So that's why you're selling out to the Chinese and the Indians too?" chided the Senator.

"We felt that outsourcing, uh, _reaching out_ to others to join in our great venture would allay some of the controversy over our current monopoly on the EE mining and colonization rights," explained Travis, trying to maintain his composure, "as well as earning the support from their delegations as well. The Guanlong Corporation has close ties with the Communist Party, and Zaeed Masrani practically has the whole Molaram Administration in his pocket. I hate to say it, but each of their votes on the council counts just as much as America's."

"Yeah, and how long 'til they just turn around and stab you guys in the back?" added Frank, "Kid, when you get to my age and travel around the world a bit, you'll learn one thing: Americans, Chinese, Indians, Japanese, Europeans, Arabs ... we're all just human, which means we're all equally dishonest and selfish and in it for our own necks. Hell, from what I gathered, those natives you guys found out on EE are even worse than us! At least we Earthmen have limits to our cruelty."

"Well, we are banking heavily on the support of the global Mass Exodus Party movement in all of this," explained Travis, "we've got two natives we're trying to bring onboard as our witnesses, one prince and one princess."

"That's cute," muttered Frank, sarcastically, "what, you guys hoping this hearing will appeal to the teenage and young adult demographic as well? Hoping to sell a few more cosplay outfits this year after that stunt you pulled last Christmas with that ... 'Iron Throne', was it? Man, did my kids pester me for one of those. No offense, but by golly do you guys overcharge for that stuff!"

"Um ... right ... we, uh, had a third native slotted as well," continued Travis, "but he works for our colony over on EE-L4 as like, I dunno, a security guard or something, so OLC advised us he might not be as convincing as the other two. I think he also has some kinda claim to the crown, but we're not going to push that at this hearing just in case it looks too much like we're trying to overreach here – if we aren't already."

"Good," muttered Frank, "well, you'll have my vote as long as you fine gentlemen can make a strong enough case that I'm not gonna end up looking like some idiot for voting for you. Who are these other two native witnesses?"

"Well, one of them is some little girl they rescued from some enslavement camp or something, and the other one's like some resistance leader who just won some big battle against this local king that we're trying to have the UN remove and install a more, ahem, _friendly monarch_ (obviously, we have our own preferences, but we're also flexible enough to work with whatever the UN eventually decides). I forget the exact details, but if they're anything like those witnesses we got from L5 and L0, at the very least they'll get some media buzz. Anyway, we'll also have our usual slew of witnesses from The Company™, both from there and from here on Earth too, and from UNASEC and the UNCDF as well. One of them will be that Marine sarge who started our little war against those deranged mutant killer snow goons."

"The more I hear, the more this sounds like some ridiculous and immature piece of badly written fanfiction," muttered Frank, rolling his eyes. "I mean, magic? Wizards and elves and dragons and demons too? And _killer snowmen_?! Jeez ... still, it'll be good to remind the UN they're just as guilty of marching around and shooting up the place as you fine gentlemen are."

"Exactly," replied Travis, "as long as we get across the message that needs to be made: we're the good guys here! These poor, backward natives on these planets need the Earthman to protect them and to uplift them, and the Earthman best suited to that task is clearly, well, us of course. And if we make a little profit on the side, well, everyone's a winner!"

"Speaking of 'a little profit'..." muttered Senator Spacey, rubbing his hands together.

"Right," nodded Travis as he reached down to pick up the briefcase, "just as we agreed. This is only the advance, but it's all in untraceable Credits and we've had our A.I.'s scrub the bank records and ..."

Spacey, however, shook his head. "No no, save your hard-earned Credits for the other delegates. No, I'm more interested to hear about this ... 'thaumic energy' research you've got going on over on El Zero."

Travis shuffled uncomfortably. "Sorry, sir, I'm not permitted to..."

"Look, kid," cut Frank, "another 'donation to the cause of freedom' is all fine and dandy, but I guarantee you, I walk outta here to go meet the reps from Nova Corp or ASBank or Sony-Yutani, and they'll be offerin' the exact same thing. You wanna stand out? Offer me something unique." He paused and smiled. "Tell me about what Dr. Garrett's team on L0 is up to."

"Uh ... okay ..." muttered Travis, nervously, "uh ... all I've heard so far is they've invented something called a 'thaumometer', that can measure background magic..."

Spacey cut him off. "Dr. Richard Garrett is one of the most brilliant and eccentric minds out there, I know that's _child's play_ to him. Tell me: what is he _really_ working on right now?"

"I'm sorry, sir, it's all above my pay grade," mumbled Travis, looking down, "I'm only told things on a need to know basis."

"I see," smirked Frank, rolling his eyes, "a pity. Because if ... say ... Dr. Garrett and his team were working on some kind of ... oh, I dunno, revolutionary reality-bending weapons system that The Company™ would perhaps be willing to work on together with the _President_ Spacey Administration ..."

Travis gulped. "I'm ... I'm gonna have to speak to my superiors about this."

"That'd be wonderful, thanks Mr. Peters," replied Senator Spacey, cheerfully, "you gentlemen will know right where to find me. Have a nice day."


	111. Robb 8

**Robb (VIII)  
**  
Years from now, Robb would realize that he really was probably the first Westerosi to see this "Earth", this legendary homeland of the Sky-People, as closely as he was now. By now, he had grown somewhat accustomed to these strange people and their even stranger devices and sorceries, and he knew very well that he was at the colony of Autumn's Frontier, just over a hundred miles or so from his home of Winterfell. But right now, the so-called "holographic projection" surrounding him felt so real and lifelike that his senses fooled him into believing he really was at that moment right there, at the seat of the Sky-People's power, impossibly far from his home.

Robb twitched uncomfortably in his seat, and tugged a little at the collar and tie of the Sky-People clothing he had been given to wear. He had read books and seen moving pictures, but to be there, surrounded on all sides by these people, was unnerving. If only he could have brought his father or mother or Theon or Jon or Grey Wind with him. Even the familiar Sky-People, Kovacs and the others, seemed strangers. At least at the Red Fork, even when facing death, he had been surrounded by his loyal banners, people he had trained and marched and fought beside all those months and learnt to love like a true band of brothers.

He looked around him again. He and some forty other "witnesses" summoned to this hearing were all seated together in one of the bleachers off on the side of the great chamber. To the right of him sat Frederick Kovacs himself, and Daniel Zimmerman, all in their formal attire. To his left sat Niall Donnelly, Kelly Adams, Sergeant Hawthorne in his Marine dress blues, Albert Digby, Jessica Danvers, Robin Van Der Merwe, Sean Duff, Stephen Lynn ... even the Targaryen girl was present, though she too looked to be in extreme discomfort, whether from the formal Sky-People clothing she had been given to wear, or her late stage pregnancy, or the same fear of appearing before so many strange and fundamentally alien people.

There were other people as well: other rows of bleachers sat hundreds and hundreds of spectators. A small desk right in front of them sat Lady Sarah Carson and three of her fellow advocates, preparing themselves like champions about to partake in a trial by combat. At the far end of the chamber, there was an enormous desk crafted from polished steel that dominated the other end of the great hall, where at this moment sat some fourteen of (so he was told) some of the most powerful Sky-People around. And finally, covering the wall, was a huge glass window, and just beyond it, the gleaming metal towers and polished crystal spires of the great Sky-People bastion called 'Manhattan'. It all made for a rather dizzying and overpowering sight for the Young Wolf; he quietly wondered how the only other person he shared a common world with in this room was taking it.

He tried to take his mind off of how nervous he was by reading through the list of signs in front of each of the high council ... America (yes, that was the nation where Lord Kovacs and Zimmerman and Not-King George Washington were all from) ... Russia (that was where Napoleon once lost an army in the middle of winter) ... China (that was supposed to be the Sky-People's equivalent to Yi-Ti) ... Japan and Korea (two other nations that Robb thought looked similar to China, but was told never to say this out loud in case they took insult to this) ... Brazil (a nation founded, he recalled, when the Portuguese King fled Napoleon ... just like when Queen Nymeria fled the Valyrians and founded Dorne) ...

He found it odd that two nations missing from this council were France and Italy, the homelands of the great Napoleon and Caesar. But then again, it had been explained to him earlier that the French leader had been 'recused' for something he had said in their 'print media' ... or something to that effect. Robb was so very confused by all of this, but went through with it all the same – he had a sneaking suspicion that he had little choice in the matter.

"How're ya holding up there?" whispered Frederick, seated next to him.

"Uh ... well enough ..." he whispered back, trying his best to sound calm and composed.

"Relax, you'll do great kiddo," replied Frederick, cheerfully, clapping him on the shoulder, "son, you faced down ten thousand knights charging straight at you, this is all child's play by comparison!"

Robb wished he shared Lord Kovacs' sentiments. He cast another glance at the big table as the final councilwoman entered and took her seat and crossed her arms. She was a tall, cold, raven-haired woman in a stark white naval uniform. The sign in front of her read:

**H.E. Grand Admiral Miranda Thrawn**  
**Supreme Commander, United Nations Colonial Defense Force (UNCDF)**  
**Rep.: United Nations (UN)**

"This hearing of the United Nations Security Council is now in session," she began with a voice that could have frozen the air around her, "we will now hear the opening statements. Counsel, if you will."

"Thank you, Your Honor," began Sarah Carson as she rose to her feet. Robb noticed that Lady Carson was doing a remarkable job of keeping her otherwise pronounced accent under control – amongst the Sky-People, it must have been considered a sign of 'professionalism'.

Lady Sarah continued, addressing everyone this time: "Your Honors, Excellencies, Ladies and Gentlemen of Earth, the Colonies, and Beyond: we are gathered here today to answer to some of these recent criticisms and accusations levied against The Company™, that we have acted in violation of the UNASEC Code, specifically, the Non-Direct Intervention Clause of the Prime Directive, that expressly forbids direct intervention in the political affairs of the indigenous population of Planet EE-L4, especially in a manner that infringes on the rights of the natives.

"These accusations are unfounded and misleading; our relationships with the natives of EE-L4 have been by and large peaceful, amicable, and in no way intended to be _directly_ intrusive nor infringing upon their political and social affairs, at least under the precepts established by this very council. The incidences of violence and other social change and unrest reported on EE-L4, as with the other worlds, may either be a natural result of that world's socio-political structure and thus the symptoms of a condition _preexisting_ our arrival, or it may be an _indirect_ side effect of our presence, but in no way, shape, or form are they a _direct_ intervention from our side.

"By now, most of you will already be familiar with the basic facts of the matter from our prior proceedings, and from the materials that you now have spread before you. Allow me to jump straight to the heart of it. On Planet EE-L4, as we with EE-L0 and EE-L5, we have tried to engage with the natives in a peaceful, friendly, and mutually beneficial manner, with the natives benefitting from our trade, technology, and other assistance, whilst permitting us to pursue our own economic interests on their world in a _sustainable_ manner that is perfectly inline with our UN mandate, and our duty to the Human Race. We at The Company™ may not be able to appease all of our critics, but we have always believed that a rising tide raises all ships.

"I could continue to speak at length and detail, but I have made my most important points, and everything else has been explained to great depth in the information packet that each of you will have received a copy of. I now welcome your questions and will answer them to the best of my abilities. Thank you." She concluded her speech, but remained on edge, ready to receive the oncoming barrage that the council no doubt had prepared for her.

"Counsel, you said 'under the precepts established by this very council'. Could you elaborate?" asked the man on the high table who bore the sign that read:

**H.E. _Direktor_ Tilman Schweinsteiger**  
**Ambassador to the United Nations, and CEO of Daimler AG**  
**Rep.: Federal Republic Of Germany (FRG)**

"Certainly, Your Excellency," replied Sarah, "to be specific, we are following the exact guidelines laid forth by the UN Supreme Court in the landmark Alpha Centauri ruling, which you will remember was another case that involved our organization. Controversy still exists over that ruling to this day, but the fact of the matter is that we accepted the verdict of the court without complaint, learnt the lessons, and moved on. EE-L4 is _not_ another Alpha Centauri; The Company™ today is not what it was back then. Now is not a time to reopen old wounds, but to accept, forgive, and move on."

"If, as you say, 'EE-L4 is not another Alpha Centauri' ... then could you perhaps enlighten us a little more on this armed incident that you engaged against the indigenous population, this so-called 'Battle Of Outpost B?" asked a councilwoman, a Summer Islander who bore a sign reading:

**H.E. Directress Sarabi N'yongo**  
**Director Of Planning, New Somalia Corporate Territory**  
**Rep.: Federation Of East African Republics (FEAR)**

"Certainly, Your Honor," replied Sarah, "we've only ever acted in self defense. When our colony suffered a vicious and _unprovoked_ attack by hostile native _Cryohuman_ lifeforms, it was Sgt. Nathan Hawthorne and his United Nations Colonial Marines who bravely came to our aid, and only after every other option had been exhausted. It was just like our colonies on L0 and L5: this is an enemy that cannot be reasoned with. We have provided in our information packets the recordings taken both by our staff and by the UNCDF personnel who were on site, and we also have gathered here today some of the brave men and women who survived that terrible night." She paused. "We lost a lot of good men that night. Even our director himself was nearly killed. Miraculously, our staff pulled through by the skin of their teeth, all thanks to the courage of the Colonial Marines. But the point is clear: just like Mordor or Chaos, we're talking about an _existential threat_ to _all_ human life on EE-L4, that the indigenous people simply don't have the means to defend themselves against without _our_ help."

"Very well, but let us turn now to this other conflict, this civil war that is currently embroiling most of the Western Continent of EE-L4. Could you elaborate further on this?" asked the councilman whose sign read:

**H.E. Senator Francis Spacey**  
**Senate Majority Leader (DR-NY)**  
**Rep.: United States Of America (USA)**

"Yes, Your Honor," replied Sarah, "we are talking about a succession crisis to be exact. Following the recent death of the late King Robert Baratheon, a number of contenders have risen to challenge the claim to the monarchy of his heir, whom we now know is actually illegitimate."

"How exactly is this heir you speak of _illegitimate_?" asked the councilman with the sign:

**H.E. Imperial Ambassador Ishiro Takei**  
**Imperial Ambassador To The United Nations**  
**Rep.: Empire Of Japan (EJP)**

"Your Honor, we have irrefutable DNA evidence that proves that Joffrey is _not_ the son of the late Robert as was commonly believed, but was actually born from an incestuous and adulterous relationship pursued by Robert's wife, the queen, and her brother." There were several murmurs and looks of disgust at the mention of this. Sarah paused before continuing. "Even if that were not the case, we have satellite video evidence of King Joffrey engaging in a number of outrageous human rights violations that should earn him the status of war criminal in any civilized society."

"Are you suggesting that the UN should _intervene_ in this indigenous conflict?" asked the councilman whose sign read:

**H.E. Senator Subramanian Sukdheep (BJP-TN)**  
**Senator, State Of Tamil Nadu**  
**Rep.: United States of India (USI)**

"Your Honor, I am merely trying to explain the causes of the current conflict. We are talking about a society where political violence is not only commonplace and widespread, but it is _inherent_ to the system, a despotic and feudal system that is fundamentally _lacking_ in our notions of human rights, equality, and personal freedom."

"So do you believe it was this 'Joffrey' who assassinated the King?" asked the councilman whose sign read:

**H.E. ****_Direktør_**** Larsen Kamprad  
Sector Director Of Operations, IKEA Clothing And Household  
Rep.: Nordic Alliance (NA)**

"At this point, Your Honor, we can neither confirm nor rule out Joffrey's direct complicity in Robert's death," explained Sarah, "but we do have substantial evidence to suggest that said act was orchestrated from within the Lannister faction, and was motivated when the Queen was informed that several others had become aware as to the true nature of Joffrey's heritage, and had intended to disclose this information to Robert. And so she struck preemptively."

"And yet you still actively _supplied weapons_ to the Joffrey regime?" asked the Grand Admiral, narrowing her eyes.

"Your Honor, we contracted with his father, King Robert, to assist him in the creation of a proper military that would help maintain peace and order as well as provide for the common defense, especially against existential threats, such as the Cryohumans. As was the case with _General_ Robb Stark, who is also present here today, we provided only _limited_ assistance, in line with UNASEC's guidelines, like how the UNCDF would assist a smaller state here on Earth, except tailored to the local sensibilities of EE-L4, that did not constitute a _direct_ intervention on our part into the natives' political processes. I admit that it was perhaps a failing on our part that we never foresaw that the Lannister faction would act as swiftly and brutally as they did, though I suppose their arrogance and ignorance was a huge factor in it. We continued some cooperation with them for a little while longer, hoping that our influence would steer the new King down a gentler and more peaceful path. But ultimately, when we saw that there was no hope to stop their madness without a drastic and _direct_ intervention on our part, we severed all ties there and then. Even when we sent our director down to the capital to make it abundantly clear to them that we could not endorse their course of action, they still went to war."

"So in short, it's all the Lannisters' fault?" asked Councilman Spacey.

"To put it simply, yes, Your Excellency," replied Sarah.

"Are we to believe that The Company had no active role in ... fomenting these hostilities? That the natives just started fighting amongst themselves of their own volition?" asked Miranda.

"If so, then it most certainly would not be without precedent," said Sarah, "we must remember that the natives of EE-L4 are an inherently violent and feudal society, as our witnesses can attest. The late King Robert himself only came to power as a result of a major uprising just 15 years ago against the then reigning monarch, and again, there were major atrocities committed by _both_ sides. And then 9 years ago, there was another major internal rebellion as well. And this is before we take into account the growing threat posed by the Cryohumans, by banditry and brigands and so forth. By our analysis, given the conditions _preexisting_ our arrival, such as Joffrey's illegitimacy and the Lannister faction's ruthlessness, another civil war was _inevitable_. And if this is a problem we cannot fix without direct intervention, then we should at the very least provide the good example of a peaceful and moral society that these people can follow."

"Counsel, you had earlier described the extent of your 'military assistance' as 'limited'; could you define 'limited' for this council?" asked the councilwoman who bore the sign:

**H.E. Directress Hyunjin Jihoon  
Chief Colonial Administrator Of Gangnam Station Space Colony  
Rep.: Republic of United Korea (RUK)**

"The military assistance we gave was limited to the equipping of about a couple thousand soldiers. Nowhere near enough to equip an entire army. And whatever aid we did provide was well within UN prescribed limits; for example, we provided no 'modern weapons', no 'automatic weapons', and certainly no 'nuclear, biological, or chemical weapons'."

"You supplied machine guns! How is that not to be considered 'automatic weapons'?" inquired another councilwoman, with the sign:

**H.E. _Embaixadora_ Marta Pinheiro**  
**Ambassador to the United Nations**  
**Rep.: United States of Brazil (USB)**

"I understand the confusion," explained Sarah, "but as stated before, a _hand-powered_ M1893 Gatling gun is _not_ an automatic weapon under the definition provided by the UNASEC Bureau on Firearms and Explosives. Trust me, I'm from Sweet Home Alabama, so I know a thang or two 'bout guns!" Robb noticed that Lady Carson temporarily slid back into her native accent before she quickly regained her composure. "There are literally tens of thousands of _privately-owned_ and _fully functional_ reproduction Gatling and _Mitrailleuse_ type weapons registered in the hands of private collectors, firearms enthusiasts, holofilm production companies, big game hunters, and historical re-enactors, throughout Earth and the Colonies, particularly in the United States, that are permitted thanks to this ruling. To suddenly modify this definition for just one case would mean suddenly criminalizing thousands of honest, hard-working, law-abiding citizens."

"Next time, you sell _semi_-automatic export version of Kalashnikov-9 rifle! Not automatic at all! Perfectly legal!" laughed the big councilman who vaguely reminded Robb, in both appearance and personality, if certainly not in accent, of Greatjon Umber who had given his life at the Red Fork. His sign read:

**H.E. Oligarch Boris Dmitrievich Marmeladov**  
**High Technocrat of the Tsiolkovsky Lunar Colony**  
**Rep.: Union Of Russian Republics (URR)**

Evidently, no one else found the big Russian's humor to have been particularly appropriate at that moment, as they were all glaring at him. "What?" shrugged Boris, "we need little levity in this hearink! No? Okay, fine. Please go on, _devushka_!"

"Right..." continued Sarah, "in any case, people are grossly overstating the amount of arms and materiel we actually provided. If you look at the total amount of assistance we have provided – and I welcome you to use any metric you want, whether it's total _weight_ of goods provided, or total _value_ in UN Credits – the provision of specifically military or defense orientated products comes out to less than 10% of the total handouts. For comparison, UNASEC spends over a _third_ of their annual budget just on the upkeep of the UNCDF alone. The vast majority of our interactions with the natives have taken the form of exchanges of gold and household goods, infrastructure improvements, agricultural tools, engineering expertise, machinery, medicine, fertilizers, as well as programs of education."

"Yes, programs that would have eventually have benefitted The Company's own interests," chided the councilwoman from Brazil.

"Your Excellency, we are merely following our UN mandate," replied Sarah, "to advance the cause of all humanity, of Earth _and_ of Epsilon Eridani. These programs and handouts I have described were all reviewed and approved by our team of UN inspectors in the system. The thing is: all wars are ultimately by _deprivation_ ... by people not having enough. When the people are hungry, desperate, threatened, disenfranchised ... that is when they fall prey to despotic government, and the whims and fancies of a few power-hungry elites. Earth's own history is chock full of examples that support my claim. Our aims were to bring _peace_ to Epsilon Eridani by first bringing _prosperity_ to the common people. To help them help themselves.

"Just look at our own Earth. It's easy to forget when the news headlines are always running with, say, the latest terrorist threats from the Islamic State Of Mars, but the statistics show that the 22nd century has so far been the most peaceful and famine-free century in the history of Earth. Fewer people have perished this decade, at least _percentage-wise_, from either starvation or warfare, than from any other period of Earth's history. Why? Because we have the technology, the socio-political organization, the free market and entrepreneurship, the rule of law, and the social values and moral imperative to solve everything.

"Our brothers and sisters of the EE System do not share in our wealth, knowledge, and values, and as a result, their worlds are overrun with famine, disease, malnutrition, poverty, extreme income inequality, oppression, mistreatment of women, feudalism, and constant warfare ... to say nothing of the grave existential threat these people face from non-human actors like Chaos or Cryohumans on a daily basis. But _we_ can change that. And we've already made a start."

She turned to face the witness stand, and Robb had the uncomfortable realization that she was looking straight at him. She continued: "We have with us today two native witnesses who will speak for themselves of the hope and change that we have brought to their world. In total, we've gathered together some forty witnesses from across The Company™, the UN, and various third parties as well, from both Earth and Epsilon Eridani, who will all testify to the work we do. Each of our witnesses will be available for two minutes of cross examination by this council after their introductory statement. Now without further ado, Your Excellencies, Ladies and Gentlemen of the Council, we would like to call our first witness to the stand."

As if on cue, Robb heard someone standing up somewhere behind him. He turned around, and saw one of the women who had been sitting a couple rows behind him rising to her feet, and slowly but purposefully striding down the aisle to reach the podium. Robb had never seen her before, but evidently, she must have been well known, for there were murmurs from among the audience. Robb tried get a closer look. She reminded him a lot of his own mother: tall, elegant, and a steady sense of purpose and determination in those piercing eyes. She looked to be in her late forties or early fifties, and dressed simply in a blue business suit.

"For the record," declared the Grand Admiral, "please state your full name and your current occupation."

"Thank you, your excellencies," began the woman, nodding politely towards the council, "my name is Adrienne Kovacs, and I am the CEO of The Company™."

_Kovacs?_ thought Robb, and immediately turned to face Lord Frederick. "Is that...?" he whispered.

"Yeah," muttered Frederick, nonchalantly, "sorry, forgot to mention, my mom's joining us today."


	112. Fred 14

_**Foreword**: and here, folks, is an update that's LONG been awaited! We get a major reveal, Fred gets something he deserves, and a few plot seeds are planted for the inevitable sequel. I have a LOT of footnotes to publish about this chapter, but I've decided to post those in the comments section once everyone's first had time to reply. So... here we go..._

* * *

**Main Command Center  
Colony of Autumn's Frontier  
Northern Sector aka "The North"  
Western Continent aka "Westeros"  
Northern Hemisphere, Planet EE-L4**

"I can't believe it!" exclaimed Daniel a couple hours later, breathing an enormous sigh of relief.

Fred smiled and opened another beer. "Hell yeah! I drink to that!" He took a swig, and passed the rest of the six-pack around to the others. "I mean, I knew we were gonna win ... I just didn't think we'd get a frikkin' _12-2 majority_ like we did! Fuck it, open tab for _everyone_ at the bar tonight, my treat! You guys are the best!" He turned to face the woman standing next to him. "Sarah? I dunno what to say ... but you're _amazing_! The way you held your own against the council! I owe you dinner one of these nights."

"All's fine and dandy, Mr. Kovacs," replied Miss Carson, back in her Southern accent, "just doin' mah job. But I should prolly warn y'all that we ain't outta the woods yet. Mr. Lynn would like to hold a lil' workshop tomorrow on how y'all can avoid any further _entanglements_ in future. Oh, and by the way, I do have me a fiancee, in case y'all were wonderin'."

"Does that mean I spoke well, Lord Kovacs?" asked Robb, nervously.

Fred smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "Kid, you did more than speak well. You're a star!" He glanced down at his MyPhone. "See? You're already trending on social media! You know, you should come visit Earth one day."

"Uh... thank you," replied Robb, more confidently now, relieved but still somewhat cautious, "well, I would love to see all of your great cities that I've read about, like Rome, Alexandria, Carthage, Paris, London... and Ser Donnelly here said I would enjoy visiting Scotland too for some odd reason. I imagine any of them would be far more, uh, _welcoming_ than New York..."

"Sure, though I should probably warn you these cities might not be quite what you're expecting," laughed Fred. He rolled his eyes. "By the way, I don't think I introduced you before we started, my bad. Robb, this is Asset, uh, Queen, uh, _Lady_ Daenerys Targaryen. Um... yes. Daeny! This is Lord General Robb Stark, Commander Of The Armies of the North, General of the Felix Legions, and he will have his vengeance in this life or the next." As usual, the natives were visibly mystified by Fred's random pop culture references, but Robb bowed respectfully all the same.

"Is it true?" asked Daeny, quietly, "that you were the one who slew that traitor Tywin Lannister ... him and his accursed dogs the Mountain and Ser Lorch too? That you were the one who crippled the Kingslayer, and put his entire army to the slaughter?"

"Well, at least one of those things personally, yes," replied Robb, humbly, "the others were a team effort from all of us in the First Army Of The North." He frowned and looked down at his feet. "We... lost a lot of good and honorable men in the process."

"That was still very heroic of you," she replied, "all of you. You have my gratitude for avenging the family I lost to those spiteful lions. Thank you." She bowed politely, returning the courtesy. "So... tell me, is this _First Army Of The North_ as truly a formidable fighting force as I hear it is?"

"Oh hell yeah it is!" blurted Fred, "thanks to the little magic we call '7.62mm' and a bayonet and some good ol' blood n' guts behind it! _America, fuck yeah!_ And we here at The Company™ would be honored to continue to provide for your every wartime needs!" He winked and put on his most convincing honest salesman smile that he could manage.

"Lord Kovacs," snapped Robb, "please do _shut up_ for once!"

"Yes, you always ruin _everything_, Lord Kovacs!" spat Daenerys.

"I think I am not alone when I say we are all growing rather tired of your... _horse piss!_" fumed Robb. He paused, confused. "Uh... that is the word you Sky-People use, right?"

"I believe the word you're looking for is '_bullshit_'," laughed Fred, brushing this off and taking another swig from his beer.

"Yo, Fred!" interrupted Daniel, "the CEO wants to speak with you."

"Great!" he smiled, "okay, Daniel, please show our guests and Ms. Carson to our meeting room and grab them a coffee or something; I'll be back soon and we'll begin the debriefing and negotiate, ahem, further arms shipments and our longterm developmental strategies towards turning this world into a thriving and productive member of the galactic economy!"

Leaving his assistant in charge of two visibly irate natives and a couple visibly embarrassed coworkers, Fred quickly chugged the rest of his beer and then strode back into the holo-room (newly installed, just last month). He then locked the door, and knelt down in the center of the room.

At once, the holoprojectors built into the walls began to glow brightly, and then Fred found himself standing in an enormous, brightly lit boardroom. An immense table, The Company™'s golden spiral galaxy logo engraved in the center of it, dominated most of this room, and huge glass windows shown the gleaming nighttime skyline of Fred's native Toronto, sprawled out below in the shadow of The Company™'s global headquarters. And standing next to him was the only other person in the room... and the third richest person anywhere throughout Earth and the Colonies.

"Hey Mom!" smiled Fred, "how's it going? You were _awesome_ today! I'm so happy that you put all those sleazy, money-grubbing politicians in their place! And your speech on why we should do more to help young girls and victims of rape in the EE System really struck a chord with all of us. Once we get that charter, I swear VENI and I are gonna go and free a thousand slave girls out on the Eastern Continent!"

Adrienne Kovacs, however, sighed, shook her head, and glared at her son. "Fred," she began, "I am _very_ disappointed in you."

Fred was taken aback. "Uh... what?"

"You... are... a _disgrace!_" she snapped, "if only you knew just how much backroom politics, how many deals I had to negotiate to get that verdict. And don't think we're in the clear just yet, _Frederick James Kovacs!_"

_Ouch_. Very few others ever used or even knew Fred's full name; this was serious. He sobered up at once. "What did I do wrong, Mom?" he asked, defensively, "everything at our colony is progressing ahead of schedule, and well within the budget we were given! Mineral production is well above our initial projected quotas! All of our Phase One industries will be operational in time for our first wave of colonists! And we've secured the land rights for the next ten years for six of our new colonies! All things told, we've met all of our primary objectives!"

"Son, you were always good at many things," sighed Adrienne, "but completely _terrible_ at others. What the hell made you think it was a good idea to try your hand at _diplomacy?_ You had one job: _manager_. For everything else, you have a team of professionals you can delegate to. And yet you always feel the need to do _everything_ yourself, and then you just make a mess for everyone!"

"But Mom!" insisted Fred, "if this is about letting Ned off the list and..."

"This is about things _deeper_ than one name on a list," snapped Adrienne, "this is about your _attitude_. I sent you to EE hoping you would become a leader, like your sister or, hell, even your _younger_ brother! Instead, you nearly brought us to the brink of disaster!"

"But mom!" insisted Fred again, more desperately this time, "we came out of this whole civil war business on top! With the Lannisters purged, the Western Sector effectively belongs to us now, and we've got the Starks and the Targs totally on our leash as well! And once we install Asset#02 as the queen, this whole continent is as good as ours! I mean, I know Ned and his boys support Stan, but once we have the legal authority granted by a UN charter behind us, they'll have no choice but to obey their sole provider of ammunition and developmental aid and..."

"_Once we install Asset#02 as queen?_" fumed the CEO, "then it may perhaps interest you to know that our sources within the UN have confirmed that the Security Council is planning to endorse the monarchy of Mr. Stannis Baratheon."

"WHAT?!" exclaimed Fred, "no, no! That's impossible! After everything I've done for her! Shit, I'm even dishing out my own cash to pay for her kid to go to college!"

"Do you _like_ her, Fred?" asked Adrienne, calmly, narrowing her eyes.

"What?!"

"Do you want to be... _King?_"

"No!" blurted Fred, "how could you even think that, mom? I'm 24, she's only 14! God, even I have standards!"

The CEO rolled her eyes, unconvinced. "Yes or no, that is now immaterial. The UN doesn't think and act as we do, Fred. And I'm sorry to say it, but right now, a veteran administrator with a reputation for stern but steadfast leadership and an established career seems the far more attractive candidate for keeping these natives in line than some poor, frightened child who is rather _obviously_ being set up to be our puppet. You know, that tends you happen when you bring an immature teenage girl onboard, talking about how she's gonna 'take back what is rightfully hers with Fire And Blood' and 'I will tear down the wheel!'. Stirring words for perhaps an HBO holoseries maybe; but certainly not for the UN. And this is before we even get into this business of her father being a war criminal."

Adrienne sat back down at her place at the head of the great table, and began pulling up several documents on the hologram. She continued: "The UN is planning to send a delegation to contact Mr. Baratheon next week with an offer, and once they have from him a number of basic commitments to human rights and gradual democratization, they will issue a charter granting us limited authority to act on his behalf."

"God damn it!" scowled Fred, "after everything we invested in her..."

"Ah yes, enough that you almost caused her death... _twice_."

"What?"

"Yes, about this whole 'poisoning' business," spat the CEO, "consider yourself damn lucky that VENI sorted everything out, as per _my_ directives, and that we actually walked away from that incident better off than before. I should have anticipated this, but it's done now, and all we can hope for is that you've matured a little since then. Isn't that right, VENI?"

"Affirmative, Supreme Directress Kovacs," spoke a familiar voice. A glowing blue orb suddenly appeared out of thin air, right beside the CEO. It continued: "and I am pleased to report that your son has registered a 21.84% increase in attentiveness and general competency ever since the incident of Day 92 After Arrival."

"VENI, you promised no one would ever find out about this!" protested Fred.

"My apologies, Director F. Kovacs, but the directives of Supreme Directress A. Kovacs override all others."

"I thought you outgrew those antics in college but evidently I was wrong," seethed Adrienne. "Fred, for the love of God, please tell me it was a side effect of the cryosleep! Please tell me it's something I can have my doctors fix, and not just plain stupidity!"

Fred was on the brink of tears: "Mom! Okay, I fucked up! I'm sorry! Whatever I can do to make it up, I'll do it! MOM! PLEASE!" Fred tried to stride up to his mother ... and walked straight into the walls of the holo-projection room. "OUCH!" Adrienne calmly raised her right palm to her face and shook her head.

"At this point, my son," she continued, "there is no 'making up for it', there is only damage control. Just be grateful that we're being allowed to continue our operations on L4 unimpeded and to consolidate our holdings. But everything else from here on is going to be watched closely by the UN. We'll have to be more discreet and tactful in our dealings with the natives, and we'll have to concentrate our diplomatic efforts now towards winning this Mr. Stannis' favor." She paused, deep in thought. "Who knows, perhaps he will be the leader best suited to advancing our agenda after all. And if not... if, say, a few years from now, it were ever the case that this Mr. Stannis proves... a _liability_, both for our interests and the UN's ... perhaps then could we effect a regime change. All I know for now is that this most certainly won't be happening under _your_ watch. I'm having you reassigned."

Fred said nothing, but the look on his face said it all.

"Officially, consider this a _promotion_," muttered Adrienne, "I hope you appreciate the fact that I'm doing my best to save face for our family and for The Company™. I'm having you quietly reassigned as _co_-director of the mission to Planet EE-L3, together with Ryan Chang once he arrives on the _Conrad_. The two of you will co-lead The Company™'s L3 delegation, while two others will lead the delegation from the Guanlong Corporation. And by co-lead, what I mean to say is that Chang and our associates in Guanlong call the shots, you just follow. In the mean time, I trust that our L4 holdings will fare well in the hands of _Director Zimmerman_." Fred was stunned. She continued: "Daniel has proven himself more than an adequate replacement for you. Consider yourself fortunate the board is not calling for your dismissal yet, not while I am in control. Furthermore, I'm deducting 300 million Credits from your personal inheritance fund."

Fred's jaw dropped. "_300 million?_"

"Yes," said his mother, calmly but sternly, "a donation of 250 million will be made to the new 'L4 Fund' of the Kovacs Foundation for providing developmental aid and emergency relief to the inhabitants of EE-L4. This display of generosity on our part will dispel some of our critics, though the more radical ones as usual will be impossible to appease. The remaining 50 million will be used over the next ten years to conveniently pay off, or else quietly eliminate, anyone who begins poking their noses too deeply into the true extent of our activities. After ten years, statute of limitations applies, and we're in the clear." She smiled. "In fact, I'm probably doing you a _favor_; you know inheritance taxes spike after the first billion."

"But Mom!" exclaimed Fred, in shock, "that's... that's..."

"Indeed it is," seethed Adrienne, "your father and I felt perhaps you would be a little more prudent if for once in your life, you stood up for yourself, tried to earn your own honest living, instead of squandering our fortune. Consider this a second chance."

"Fuck it, you're right," scowled Fred, "I don't deserve to be king or CEO or even Sector-level Director! Shit, I don't even deserve to live anymore! VENI! Kill me right now!"

"Negative, Director F. Kovacs, that would run contrary to my primary directives. That, and I also detect that you are not currently in a mental and emotional state conducive to such drastic decision-making."

"Fred..." began Adrienne, quietly, once Fred had calmed down somewhat. "You and your brother and sister mean the world to me. I carried you inside me for nine months, back when everyone else told me I was sacrificing my career for you. But they were wrong, and I will never forget the day you were born. You will always be my Little Freddy."

"Mom... I didn't mean..."

She cut him off. "Fred, I will move heaven and Earth for the three of you, but understand this: your behavior and attitude is hurting us all right now, but you're really hurting _yourself_ the most. You're 24; for the love of God, Fred, please grow up. This isn't some twisted fantasy novel or some damn children's holovision cartoon, this is real life. And if you can't handle it, just get on that first ship back and come home to us."

"I... I understand Mom," he replied. He said nothing else, but she could read it in his face right away.

"If you're ready, I'm sending you the dossiers on your new team right now. It will do you well to study them, and to learn a little more about L3 while you're at it. It's the smallest habitable world in the system, but it's the second most populous after L0, and the natives there are more socially and technologically advanced than any of the other three planets. Their reserves of high-value ores are the richest in the system, and they have some interesting thaumic research potential that could revolutionize everything. All in all, it's a different picture from any of the other worlds, and if you don't feel quite up to it, there's no shame in letting Chang take the reins on this one."

Fred quickly glanced through the profiles of his new team. "Chang... Jeong... Takahashi... Rashid... wait a minute, does this mean I'll be the only _white_ guy on L3?"

"Good point. I'm sure that you will do your best to represent our race with honor and dignity," quipped Adrienne, sarcastically, "I suppose now is a good time to see if any of those Mandarin lessons I invested in for you and those summers you spent interning at our Shanghai office were worth the price. Apparently, the natives of L3 speak some variant of it."

The discussion went for a while longer before Fred and his mother bade farewell, and he once again found himself and VENI standing in the holoroom of Autumn's Frontier. VENI was the first to speak: "I take it that you do not wish to express to Asset#02 aka Monarch D. Targaryen that UNASEC will not be endorsing her claim to the monarchy."

"No, I'll do it," mumbled Fred, "Mom was right that I shouldn't try to do everything myself ... but at least on this one, it's the decent thing to do ... to own up for everything. Shit. Yeah, Daeny's probably gonna throw an epic bitchfit. But oh well, I'm only gonna be here another month anyway." He sighed. "Okay VENI, give me the rundown on EE-L3." He paused. "Say, you'll be coming along too, right?"

* * *

_Earth... Fire... Air... Water..._

_When I was a boy, my father, Avatar Aang, told me the story of how he and his friends heroically ended the Hundred Year War._

_Avatar Aang and Firelord Zuko transformed the Fire Nation colonies into the United Republic Of Nations, a society where benders and non-benders from all over the world could live and thrive together in peace and harmony. They named the capital of this great land... Republic City._

_Avatar Aang accomplished many remarkable things in his life ... but sadly, his time in this world came to an end. And like the cycle of the seasons, the cycle of the Avatar began anew..._

_...Only this time, things would be different..._


	113. Epilogue 1 of 2

_**Foreword: **and here, ladies and gentlemen, we have reached the first part of our Epilogue. A lot of things happen, and we get a glimpse into the inevitable sequel as someone (or something) arrives on Westeros from one of the other planets. Now who could it be?_

* * *

**EPILOGUE Part I**

**Sansa (IV)**

The waves crashed and churned against the jagged rocks. Even deep within the walls of Dragonstone, Sansa could still feel the salt and spray and howling wind, though at least it was something she had gotten used to over these last few months. It did vaguely remind her of the Winterfell she so badly missed now, only with the sea instead of snow.

"Tell me more about the Sky-People!" asked Sansa's closest friend on this whole rock, cheerfully.

"Certainly... Shireen," she replied, and proceed to tell her about her sister Arya and that magical box called a 'MyPhone' that could hold more songs within it than any bard. Oh, how she missed her sister, her brothers, everyone.

At that moment, the two of them were seated in the Princess' personal bedchambers, reading to each other, telling one another stories. Sansa had to admit that she had been terrified of her at first, of the ugly scars that the Greyscale had left on her face. But as the weeks and months wore on, Sansa slowly learnt to look beyond the Greyscale, and to realize that she was as warm-hearted a person as any that could be found on this bleak, black rock in the middle of the Narrow Sea...

"Lady Melisandre!" remarked Shireen, looking up.

Sansa turned around and saw the Red Woman standing right there in the doorway, as if she had suddenly appeared out of thin air. She was startled, but she quickly remembered her etiquette and bowed.

"There, there, child," replied the tall priestess as she towered above both of the girls, with the tone of someone trying to sound comforting and motherly though not quite accustomed to it, "it is I who should bow to you, for the faithful service your father has rendered in the name of our King and the Champion of Our Lord." She strode over to the window and looked out. "As we speak, the Sky-People delegates are concluding their meeting with the King. They have at last promised to aid him in taking what is rightfully his and fulfilling his destiny. In return, among many other things, you will return to Winterfell tonight when they depart aboard their Falcon-ship."

"Thank you!" cried Sansa, almost in tears, as she strode over to the Red Woman and embraced her tightly. "Oh, how I missed Winterfell! Father and mother and Robb and Brandon and Arya and Little Rickon too!"

"The Lord rewards those who serve him," replied the priestess, calmly, returning her embrace, "as for Baelish, well, I hope it troubles you not, but the Lord has something very special in mind for him."

"Wait! Does that mean you are... _leaving_ me?" asked Shireen, mournfully.

* * *

**Tyrion (VI)  
**  
Casterly Rock. Home. And yet it felt so strange to him too at the same time. He had claimed what was rightfully his by birth, even though few else wished to acknowledge it. But it felt an empty and hollow victory in many ways.

Over the last couple months, Tyrion Lannister found that he wasn't quite enjoying being the Lord Of Casterly Rock as much as he could have been. Then again, House Lannister and all her banners had suffered and bled over these last few months – so many men whom Tyrion knew personally, butchered and slain. At least the victorious Northmen had been gracious enough as victors to have allowed the shattered remnants of the Westerlands army to gather up and mourn their dead - Tyrion wondered if his own lord father would have been so generous.

But alas, any good will Tyrion felt for the Northerners from this gesture were dispelled when the peace terms had come out and levied a heavy toll on the Rock: Golden Tooth, Hornvale, Deep Den, and all the lands around them were to be handed over to the North and Riverlands, along with some several million Gold Dragons in reparations. Worse still, he had been made to accept the truth of his nephew's illegitimacy, and to ensure his tacit support for the claim of the rightful King Stannis Baratheon, had been made to pledge some 10,000 swords to the cause, to be led by Ser Addam Marbrand (who was still, technically, a prisoner of the North). The one silver lining was that thanks to his compliance with these terms and to the intervention of the Sky-People, Jaime, Cersei, and their, uh, _children_ were to be spared the headman's axe, but they would have to go into exile instead...

The only reason the new Lord Paramount and Warden Of The West was not more furious over these terms than he should have been was because deep down, he knew, one day, the Westerlands would rise again, stronger and more terrible than ever before. _One day, the Lannisters will strike back_ ...

"Well, here's to your late lord father, Tywin Lannister, a true lion among men," spoke up Lord Frederick Kovacs, quietly and respectfully, as he, Tyrion, Lord Daniel Zimmerman, and a couple other Sky-People who claimed to represent some kind of guild called 'the UNDP' and 'the World Bank' all gathered in the banquet hall of the Rock and raised their wine glasses high. Lord Kovacs continued: "may your lord father be honored and remembered as the Westerlands enters a new age of peace and prosperity! And may this partnership of Casterly Rock and The Company be forever symbolized and enshrined... in the groundbreaking of _New Kovacsburg!_"

"New Kovacsburg?" asked Tyrion, raising an eyebrow, "really, Lord Frederick?"

"Actually, we named it after my mom," explained Frederick, nonchalantly.

"Uh... right," muttered Tyrion.

* * *

**THE KINGSPOST **  
_Ye Moste Reliable And Accurate Source o' Newse in Yon Sevene Kingdomse!_  
Volume 2 – Issue 4 – January 21st, 299 A.C. – 35 Copper Groats

**STANNIS KING!**

**_Ye Lord O' Dragonstone Marcheth To Liberate Yon City From Ye Tyrannical Rule O' Ye Bastard Borne O' Incest Joffrey!  
I, For One, Doth Welcometh Our New Baratheon Overlord!_**

"You're running a big risk, here, Lord Edgerton," cautioned Olyvar as he read over the template for the next day's paper. "I know that the Dragonstone and Eyrie forces are now only a few days away... but Joffrey will still have your head for this!"

"Joffrey? He's washed up now," said Lord Phineas, dismissively, "once this hits the shelves tomorrow, the people will be clamoring for Stannis, maybe even rise up and throw the gates open for him." He had a point: with the Reach too now in open rebellion, with the imports of food and other goods now ground to a halt, the situation in the capital had become desperate, and more and more each day turned to _The Kingspost_ as their only respite and ray of hope. Somehow, Lord Edgerton had managed to keep the supplies of ink and parchment stable, and had made sure to exploit this demand for all it was worth.

"That is all fine, but... well, I hear that Lord Baelish is with them and..." began Olyvar.

"For now," corrected Edgerton, "he's only still alive because Stannis needs that old hag Lysa and the Vale Lords on his side. Once he has the Iron Throne, I can assure you that Baelish is as good as dead. In case you didn't notice, sonny, Stannis is not one to just forgive and forget another's previous actions anytime soon."

"If that's the case," pondered Olyvar, "should we not be concerned that he may come after _you_ as well?"

"Which is, of course, why I have my safe house on standby," replied Edgerton, calmly and sure of himself, "and if things don't cool down within the month, well, I'll just have to quietly relocate to Lannisport then. I have a couple associates there setting up our new branch office. With luck, _The Goldpost_ launches next month." He smiled and poured two glasses of wine. "What are you all worried about? Yeah, the future is uncertain and will hold many great threats and challenges ahead of us all. But there are many great opportunities as well for those of us ready to grab 'em by the balls and never let go!" He raised his glass. "Gentlemen? To _The Kingspost_, and to the future!"

* * *

**The Sergeant (IV)  
**  
"Sir! You called for me, sir?" asked Sgt. Snow as he entered the office and saluted.

"I did," replied Sgt. Hawthorne standing up from his desk, "please, sit down." When they were seated, he continued: "what is the status of your unit?"

"Sir! The new recruits are almost ready, sir! In particular, I would like to commend Corporal Jorah Mormont for fast-tracking to promotion to Sergeant. I intend to take him with us when we head over the Wall and..."

"No _emotional baggage_, I presume?" inquired the Sarge.

"No, sir," replied Sgt. Snow, "I believe reuniting and reconciling Corporal Mormont with his lord father may actually be helpful for..."

"Not Mormont," cut the Sarge, flatly, "I was talking about _you_. Is there something troubling you? Something I should know about?"

Snow paused, realizing what Hawthorne was asking of him, but not knowing how to respond at first. "No, sir," he replied at last, "whoever my parents were, whoever I was before... that is all behind me now. I... I'm a White Wolf, first and foremost, sir! My family is the wolf pack! My lord father... _uncle_ made everything clear to me."

"Good," replied the Sarge, sternly, "you're a fine soldier, Snow, but the brass has made their decision regarding this current succession crisis, and we're all bound by our Oath Of Service to comply." He paused. "And who knows, when you get back from beyond the Wall, I may just have a couple recommendations for you to attend officer training."

"Thank you, Sir!"

"Dismissed," replied Hawthorne, "please send in the next gentleman." Sgt. Snow saluted and left, and almost immediately, the next man entered, hobbling in slowly, his left leg in a brace, his right hand missing, a shock collar around his neck, escorted by two White Wolf troopers...

"Ser Hawthorne," spoke the disheveled man.

"Mr. Lannister," said the Sergeant, blankly, "take a seat."

The disgraced former knight sat down, but his guards remained standing, alert, in case he tried to escape again (even though the shock collar had proven more than sufficient the last time). He began: "I... wish to express my... gratitude for..."

Hawthorne cut him off. "Consider yourself damn lucky the UN intervened on your behalf. It took some effort on our part to convince Mr. Stannis that your exile offworld was a suitable substitute for your beheading. Then again, given where you four are going, I'm not jealous in the slightest."

Jaime looked down at his feet. "I... uh... is there nothing that can be done for Joffrey?"

Hawthorne shook his head. "Mr. Lannister, Joffrey has killed far too many people; he is by definition a war criminal, and criminally insane at that. He'll be consigned to the care of The Company's new mental health research institute over on EE-L0, so at least you can visit him time to time. He's damn lucky that his age and his mental health were factors in the verdict; usual UN sentence for a war criminal of that level is life without parole, but we have used firing squads too for the most serious cases."

Jaime gulped. "Very well... and what will the Sky-People have done with the rest of us?"

The Sergeant carefully looked at Jaime before he replied: "first thing is we're gonna have to have that arm and leg of yours fixed up before we sign you up with the rest of our new _Penal Legion_."

* * *

**Arianne (I)  
**  
"Honorable guests," began Doran Martell, Prince Of Dorne, as House Martell and their visitors all gathered after dinner in one of the lavishly tiled and decorated lounges of the Water Gardens. He continued: "I trust that dinner was very much to your liking."

"Absolutely! _¡Muchas gracias, jefe!_" smiled the leader of the foreigners, the one named Lord Frederick Kovacs. He was trying to be polite, though he might have also had one too many glasses of the wine... "Man, I haven't had fish _empanadas_ that good since that one spring break I went to Argentina!"

Arianne Martell, the Princess of Dorne, had never heard of these exotic far-off places that Lord Frederick spoke of, like 'Buenos Aires' and 'Malaga' and 'Ibiza', but she listened intently all the same, intrigued by these strange people who came bearing innumerable wonders and powerful sorceries at their command, and yet beneath it all were not too different from the Dornish themselves...

"We are honored to have your presence here, and we trust that this will mark the beginnings of a most... _mutually beneficial_ friendship between House Martell and the Sky-People," declared Prince Oberyn, politely, as he stole a glance at one of their guests, the one named Lady Venya, and winked. Lady Venya, however, was completely unexpressive.

"Uh, thanks," muttered Lord Daniel. He turned back to face Prince Doran: "So ... I don't think we have that much more left to discuss. I think we more or less laid out everything we're looking for over dinner."

"Perhaps," replied Prince Doran, pensively, stroking his beard, "you say that you can cure my gout, make the deserts bloom, and bring wealth and power beyond imagination to Dorne... but there is one article of exchange you had mentioned that I would like to see with mine own eyes before we commit ourselves any further."

Lords Frederick and Daniel looked at each other and nodded. "Uh, Veni, please show our honored hosts our, ahem, _'souvenirs'_," commanded Frederick.

"Affirmative," replied the great woman as she, by herself, heaved an enormous polished metal chest onto the low table in the center of the room – a feat of strength that was not lost even on the Sand Snakes from where they were seated at the far corner of the room. Without further ado, Lady Venya opened the box and revealed what lay within to the Prince's eyes. From where she was seated, Arianne could not see what was inside the box, but she knew straight away what it was, for the look of satisfaction that her father and her uncle Oberyn gave one another was something she had seldom ever seen before.

The discussions continued for a while longer, and then at last it was time for all to retire to their quarters for the night. Arianne and her brothers Princes Trystane and Qwentyn had all volunteered to kindly show the guests to their rooms. As it was, Arianne had chosen to take Lord Kovacs himself...

"I must say, you are quite a _fascinating_ man, Lord Kovacs," smiled Arianne, seductively, as she led the Merchant Prince into his lavishly furnished guest room. "I do not believe I have ever seen my father and uncle so ... impressed." She quietly sealed the door behind them, and slid the bolt across, locking it, and then began to unfasten the cincher she wore around her waist...

Lord Frederick smiled back, eagerly gazing into her eyes for a second. Then, he suddenly frowned, looked up at the ceiling, and at no one in particular lamented: "_God damn it! _Why the hell do I have to leave this planet so soon?!"

* * *

**Melisandre (V)  
**  
"_Stannis!_" shouted Ser Davos as he strode up to the Iron Throne... and placed the crown atop his liege lord's head. "_Stannis, King!_" he shouted again.

"STANNIS, KING!" came the raucous cries and applause of all the bannermen gathered there in the throne room, as they all raised their swords and fire-arms into the air in salutation to the new King Of The Andals, The Rhoynar, And The First Men, Lord Of The Seven Kingdoms, Protector Of The Realm, Azor Ahai Reborn And Champion Of The Lord Of Light...

Melisandre grinned with great satisfaction as she watched the whole affair from the other end of the room. Surely the Lord Of Light R'hllor himself had seen fit to bestow his blessing upon this day, the crowning of his Champion, as the Red Comet had appeared just the night before. Many of the unbelievers and infidels took the sign as a bad omen of worse things to come (as things were already in a poor state in the capital when the King's army arrived). But Melisandre and other followers of the true faith had no fear, for they knew that the Lord himself had returned to them.

She did not stay too long in the Throne Room; Stannis was not a man of great pomp and ceremony, but even what little festivities there were was beneath Melisandre's interest. Instead, she left after a few minutes to return to her duties elsewhere in the Red Keep. Azor Ahai had reclaimed what was rightfully his, but there was still much work left to be done in the Lord's Name, and other, pressing matters to attend to. Much of this heathen Realm remained in open rebellion, and then of course there was this matter of the Sky-People and their bizarre and godless ways, like how they had dared ask for things like clemency for the infidel king's family, or these other ideas like 'human rights'. But their support had been useful, though she also wondered what was to be done once they had expended their usefulness to the Lord's cause...

_Melisandre_, spoke the voice in her head, the voice that she had heard when, at long last, she was finally able to peer beyond the endless chaos of her visions in the flame, and catch a brief glimpse of the glowing glory of the Lord himself that lay beyond, an island refuge of calm amidst the vast turbulent seas...

_My Lord!_ she exclaimed (in her mind), surprised, _you can... speak to me without the flame!_

_Indeed_, replied the voice, _as you grow in power and hone your skills as I have shown you, I will be better able to reach you directly, when and wherever I may be in need of your duties. _

_Oh, Great R'hllor, Lord Of Light, the Ageless, The Infinite, how may I serve thee today?  
_  
_You have done well since last we spoke. But there is still much left to be done. Alas, my connection to your mortal realm is still weak for now, such is the foul work of the Other Gods as they grow and gather in strength!  
_  
_My Lord! We cannot allow that to happen!  
_  
_It is happening as we speak, just look around you! Even now, the Forces of Darkness assemble all about you, and Night marches ever closer upon these ignorant, faithless ones, a Night truly dark and full of terrors! And only I can save and redeem this world! But I will require many more sacrifices before at last I may return to my full strength. I need you and your brothers and sisters of the Red more than ever. Perhaps now, on this momentous occasion of the crowning of Stan... uh, ahem, my Champion... yes, now would be a good time to administer my Gift...  
_  
_My Lord? I... am not worthy yet.  
_  
_You are stronger than you realize, my Melisandre. Let your faith be your sword, your shield, your guiding light in the dark! Learn well and believe, and even the arrogant Sky-People will quiver in awe and fear before you!  
_  
_Very well, My Lord!_ She set off again at a quickened pace this time, quickly winding her way through the maze of hallways and passages, until at long last she made her way to the chamber she sought...

"I must say, if this is how you treat all your prisoners, perhaps I would not mind being your 'guest' indefinitely," snidely smirked Lord Petyr Baelish as he looked up from where he lay, relaxing on the great four-poster bed in his chambers. Melisandre turned to face the two Queen's Men who guarded the door, and beckoned them to leave. They nodded and obeyed without question, leaving the two of them alone.

"Lord Baelish," she began, sidling up to him, "in light of the great services you have rendered in the name of The Lord Of Light's Champion, Azor Ahai, the Lord himself has ordained of you a great honor!" She quickly undid her belt, and let the rest of robes fall from her shoulders, leaving her completely naked (and admittedly rather shapely) form standing before him.

The former Master Of Coin stared on, raising an eyebrow. "Uh? Right... so tell me, are you _contractually obligated_ to disrobe yourself at least once in every scene you are in?" It was then that he also noticed that the only thing she was still wearing, the large ruby around her neck, had begun to glow fiercely. He frowned. "What are you doing?"

Melisandre calmly placed her right hand over the little mortal's forehead. "Hush, Lord Baelish," she smiled malevolently as bright arcs of light began to crackle and spark all around her. "Prepare thyself to meet the Lord himself!" she proclaimed loudly in a deep and terrible voice that did not quite sound like her. She could feel the power starting to surge within her, the fire, the light, the heat... her eyes began to glow with a fierce blue light...

Baelish tried to pull himself away from her, tried to scream in terror at the foul spectacle before him, but he could only stare on, frozen to the spot by the empyrean energies of the Warp that danced around him as his very soul was ripped apart and devoured alive...

_Just as planned, Melisandre, just as planned..._


	114. Epilogue 2 of 2

_**Foreword**: and here, alas, ladies and gentlemen, we reach the end of our journey. But fear not, for one ending is another beginning..._

* * *

**EPILOGUE Part II**

**Daenerys (IV) &amp; Daniel (XI)**

The last month had been a quiet and solemn one for Daenerys... ever since that painful 'UN hearing', ever since she was told that Lord Kovacs could no longer uphold his pledge to put her on the Iron Throne for reasons she could not understand (why not? His mother was the high queen of the Sky-People, was she not?). Well, Lord Kovacs was gone now, left for another world, and instead a host of new faces had taken his place – the great Sky-People ship they called "Joseph Conrad" had arrived a few days ago, and the colony of Autumn's Frontier seemed busier than ever. And life continued on much as it had these last few months that she had lived amongst them.

But deep down, Daeny had decided firmly that she was not over yet. Far from it. She was the last blood of Old Valyria, the Last Dragon, and one day, she would take what was hers with Fire And Blood. And if Lord Kovacs could no longer serve her, perhaps she would have to find other allies more willing to pledge themselves to her cause.

But that would all have to wait. Right now, there was one small matter that required her more immediate attention. Well... alright, it wasn't exactly a very small matter... and she was rather afraid of it too if she was being entirely honest with herself...

"Mrs. Targaryen, the doctor will see you now," spoke the nurse on duty, the one named Deanna, as she entered the waiting room.

With great effort, Daeny struggled to her feet, helped by Irri. She had been told the birth was overdue, and the doctors would now have to induce it. "Khaleesi," spoke Irri in the Dothraki tongue, "I must come in with you! To receive Khal's child! To help Sky-Woman healer!"

Daeny smiled weakly. "Thank you, Irri. I... I think the Sky-People have this all taken care of... but... well, I do need my _Khalassar_ with me, and you are all I have left."

"Not all," replied Irri, reassuringly.

Helped both by Irri and by Deanna, Daeny made her way into the hospital ward...

* * *

"So... _that's_ it then?" asked Daniel, "that's Dr. Garrett's big project?"

"This? This is just scratching the surface!" laughed Robin Van Der Merwe, "this, good sir, is the _Thaumic High Energy Laser_, or THEL for short... which is actually a misnomer, since it's _not_ actually a laser."

"So what is it then?" inquired Daniel, apprehensively.

Dr. Sean Duff replied: "we're kinda still working on the name, but some of the team back on L0 suggested 'Thaumic Energy Amplification Stimulated by Electromagnetic Radiation' or 'TEASER'. The folks in marketing definitely thought it had a nice ring to it."

"No, _what_ is it?" asked Daniel, again, "like, how does it work? The Sparknotes version, please."

"Think of it rather like a funnel," spoke up Dr. Savage from his workstation. He and Dr. Hyneman had arrived just last week from L0 together with the parts of the THEL, and had spent these last few days overseeing the assembly of the device. He continued: "using artificially created _microthaumic_ fields, it gathers any thaumic energy flowing into it and focuses it into a single beam less than a millimeter across."

"I saw the photos from those THEL tests you ran over on L0, and I can tell you that beam looked a lot thicker than 'just a millimeter across'," said Daniel.

"Actually, the beam looks a lot thicker than it really is because it's ionizing the air around it," explained Dr. Hyneman, "but basically, adding to my colleague's point, what we're going to do is create a burst of thaumic energy inside this chamber by setting off the warpstone samples we brought. Now, that stuff is dangerous; you need robots to handle it and even then it's deadly! Fortunately, we found that those lunar samples from EE-L4-M1 seem to provide some sort of stabilizing agent to prevent a runaway thaumic reaction. Combined with the naturally occurring background thaumic energy concentrated in this area, we're hoping to induce a controlled burst of magic that will then be channelled through the THEL and focused into a pinpoint beam."

"So that's why we're holding the test down here in these catacombs?" asked Daniel, looking around him at the thick stone walls and ceilings that boxed in this confined area.

"Preciseleh," explained Engineer Niall Donnelly, "Site B5467 is not onleh rich in 'natural thaumic energeh', but we're also 40 meters below ground, which means that just in case somethin' goes wrong, we just blow the charges and boom! We bureh this whole place under tons o' rock and that'll fizzle out the reaction."

"Yes, while we're standing here," muttered Daniel under his breath.

Dr. Savage continued with the exposition: "we have here nine banks of nine _electrorunes_ each, arranged in a circle. These are runes constructed from an iron, cobalt, yttrium, platinum hyperalloy; when we run electricity through them, they emit micro-thaumic fields we can then use to bend and direct the flow of thaumic energy released. We then use Artifact Zero as a further focusing implement and..."

"Wait, hang on," said Daniel, checking over the blueprints on his holo-tablet again, in particular, the tiny and seemingly insignificant ring-shaped artifact hovering in the center of the main firing chamber, held in place by electromagnetic fields. He frowned. "Uh... is that what Teller's team on L5 went to such lengths to recover? _That little thing?_"

"That 'little thing' is Artifact Zero and yes, it is _highly_ thaumically potent," cautioned Dr. Hyneman, "we recommend not touching it. We have a couple members of the team in rehab after they came into contact with it."

"Look, this is all pretty impressive," said Daniel, a little doubtful, "but are you sure this is gonna actually, uh, work?"

"According to the lore," explained Sean Duff as he consulted the notes on his holo-tablet, "the kind of ceremony we're about to attempt usually requires some kind of blood sacrifice or voodoo type black magic. But we're hoping to bypass that requirement entirely by just sheer brute forcing magic into those artifacts and hoping Garrett's Law is with us today."

"Garrett's Law?" Daniel raised an eyebrow.

"Oh yes!" winked Dr. Savage, "you know how in physics, they say you can destroy anything in the universe by simply hitting it with enough force? Garrett's Law is a variation wherein we believe that you can _do_ anything _to_ anything as long as you throw enough magic at it!"

"Honestly," added Robin, "we have no focking idea what's gonna happen when we light up this baby like a Christmas Tree, but I know for a fact whatever it is, it's gonna be _spectacular_!"

"Ah yes, the scientific method at its finest..." muttered Daniel.

"Totally!" replied Savage, oblivious to Daniel's sarcasm, "well, that's how science has always worked: smash atoms and shit together and blow stuff up and see what happens! When they detonated the first atomic bomb back in the 1940's, some folks thought it was gonna, I dunno, incinerate the entire Earth's atmosphere. But they went ahead and dropped it anyway. FOR SCIENCE!"

"Well, I sure hope we're not gonna incinerate _this_ planet's entire atmosphere, or tear a Negative Space Wedgie in the fabric of the material universe. I think it's fair to say that would ruin everyone's day," muttered Daniel as he stole one more glance at the other end of the large underground chamber they were all standing in at the moment. There, atop one of the stone altars, there sat three large, round, football sized objects that Fred and VENI had once recovered hoping they would be an adequate replacement for the loss of Specimens WW01, 02, 03, and 04. Well, today was the day to find out...

"Alright, let's get to work then," declared Daniel. The rest of the team gathered there all nodded in agreement, and began putting on their safety goggles. Red lights began to flash and alarms sounded. Daniel took his position behind his workstation located behind the protective barrier, and spoke into the microphone, his voice amplified throughout the rest of the complex: "attention all personnel! Please clear the testing zone! THEL Test will commence in t-minus five minutes and counting!"

* * *

Daenerys was in agony.

She had been told before that the Sky-People has miraculous drugs and methods of delivery that would have made the whole affair completely painless, but she had turned them down; if she was going to bear a true conqueror of worlds, she wanted to be brave and resolute, to give birth the way as was intended by nature.

Well, right now she was really beginning to regret the decision.

"_AAAAAAHHHHHHH!_" she screamed, "_EEEEEEEAAAAAGGHHHH! AAAAARRRRRHHHH!_" By now, her skin was pouring with sweat and blood and other fluids in droves. She writhed again, feeling as if her child were clawing and biting its way out of her...

"C'mon! You can do this!" coached the doctor, firmly, "Push! C'mon! Look! I can already see... _oh_... that wasn't on the ultrasound..."

Daenerys didn't know if the screaming she heard next was hers or the babe's or someone else's entirely, only that her mind and vision began to blur and blank out, into nothing but flames and stars and dazzling bolts of light and maybe some of the starfire of the Sky-People they called 'plasma'. And that was when she started to hear the myriad voices in her head...

_"You don't want to wake the dragon, do you?"_

_"Moon of my life! If this is a dream, I will kill the man who wakes me!"_

_"NO ONE HARMS MY SISTER! I NEED HER ALIVE!"_

_"Oh what a day, WHAT A LOVELY DAY!"_

_"Lord Kovacs, please do SHUT UP for once!"_

_"This place, Khaleesi, is something I have only ever heard about in the old tales."_

_"Yeh, where we almost got, y'know, eaten by zombehs!"_

_"We spend enough time there, working on Fred and Daniel's little science fair project."_

_"Are we to believe the natives just started fighting amongst themselves of their own volition?"_

_"No One... I am No One! Just kidding..."_

_"These Sky-People must be crazy..."_

_"Daeny? Listen, I'm so fucking sorry about everything and..."_

After that, for a long time, there was only the pain, the fire within her, the whisperings of stars, and the taste of ash in her mouth.

* * *

**_TTTTZZZZSSHHZZZZTTTSSSSZZZZZSSSTTTTZZHHHHZZTTTSSSS ZZZZ...  
_**  
The loud humming and brilliant white light filled the room as the continuous beam surged forth from the focus point and struck the target zone, small arcs of lightning crackling and fizzing all about it. Nothing much else was happening.

"We're now at 8 MegaThaums and climbing!" remarked Kelly, "8.1! ... 8.2! ... 8.3! ..."

"MOAR POWAH!" shouted Dr. Savage.

"I'm givin' it all she's got!" shouted Niall in his Scottish accent as he and Kelly struggled with the power regulators and switches at their workstation.

"Then engage RESERVE POWER!" shouted Dr. Hyneman. Niall hesitated at first, but followed through all the same, and activated the backup generators. The humming and sizzling and crackling sounds intensified, the light growing brighter by the second...

"We're now at 10 MegaThaums and climbing!" remarked Kelly, starting to sound concerned, "11! ... 12! ... 13 MegaThaums!"

"Just to be clear, we're talking _rate_, not _total_ energy output, right?" piped up Sean.

Somewhere behind them, one of the surge capacitors exploded. Not a very big one, but enough to startle everyone. All over Daniel's workstation, red warning lights began flashing. He took immediate action. "Shut it off!" he shouted, "SHUT IT OFF NOW!"

Niall and Kelly didn't need to be told a second time, and immediately pushed the big red emergency shutdown button. The power supply was cut off; the beam dissipated at once, and the monitor screens showed that any excess thaumic energy was now being safely redirected and vented elsewhere. For a second, the entire test chamber fell silent and motionless, the only thing moving was the smoke and fumes rising from all of the overheated machinery and...

That's when Daniel saw it. Upon the stone altar there lay the three artifacts. One of them, the black one, had cracked in half, revealing nothing. But the other two had cracked open to reveal... Daniel gasped. They were moving. _Alive_. They were no larger than pigeons, but there was no mistaking just what they were.

_Dragons._

_Goddamn motherfucking baby dragons!_

"Good work everyone, looks like the test was a success!" smiled Daniel, relieved.

"One of them is dead," pointed out Kelly, sadly, as she looked at the broken black egg, only smoke rising from it.

"But two are alive, that's a 66.6666 to the infinity % success right there!" smiled Dr. Savage.

To be honest, Daniel was just relieved they didn't end up incinerating everyone standing there in that room in the process. He then continued: "this is great! Hyneman, make sure we have all the data saved and encrypted and then relayed over to the team on L0."

"On it," Dr. Hyneman replied as he got to work on his holo-laptop.

"Aww, they're so cute!" remarked Kelly Adams as she strode closer for a better look at them, "what do we do with them?"

"Well," began Dr. Duff, consulting his notes on his holo-tablet, "if _Draco westerosensis_ is as intelligent as _Draco ulthuanensis_, they'll imprint on the first, living creature that they see and... um... yes, as they seem to have on _you_."

Kelly cooed and giggled as both of the two baby dragons, the white one and the red one, saw her and began chirping and calling out to her, seeming to mistake her for their mother. She reached out to pet one of them...

"Kelleh, we hardleh been together fer that long an' ya alreadeh wanna adopt?" laughed Niall as he joined her side.

Daniel rolled his eyes. _Oh bother..._

"Uh, sir?" came the voice of Robin, looking up from his workstation, "we're getting in reports of... well, you might wanna take a step outside and take a look at it yourself."

_Oh? Now this is mildly disconcerting_... Daniel and the rest of the lab staff quickly followed Robin out of the main chamber and back up the access tunnel, out to the surface. It was then, as they emerged from the tunnel entrance, that the group was greeted by a most wondrous visage before them. Up in the sky above them, a brilliant streak of red light glowed and shimmered brightly. All across Outpost B, workers and other employees milling about had dropped whatever they were doing to gawk and marvel at the sight.

"Uh... what is _that?_" asked Daniel, amazed (and a little terrified too).

Niall checked his holo-tablet. "Accordin' to our satellites, it appears that the waste thaumic emissions from our THEL 'ere are interactin' with some kinda sudden local spike in thaumic activiteh." He paused. "No doubt caused by, ahem, the birth o' these dragons 'ere."

"Contact the other labs," commanded Daniel, "see if L0, L3, and L5 are reporting any similar phenomena." Niall nodded.

"It's beautiful at least!" remarked Kelly, enamored by the brilliant display of light and color.

"I said it would be _spectacular!_" chimed in Robin as he reached down for his MyPhone to snap a selfie with the great vista before them.

Daniel heard his own MyPhone buzzing. He answered it quickly... and was stunned with what he heard. When he hung up, he turned to Niall and Kelly and Robin. "Uh, well, it looks like we've had a 100% success after all. We've found the third dragon."

* * *

Daenerys was in a daze, just exhausted from everything. She lay back in her bed in the hospital room, Irri faithfully by her side.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Targaryen!" came the voice of Doctor Chakwas as she entered the room, carrying something most precious in her arms. Taking great care, she walked up to Daeny's bedside and laid the little bundle into her waiting arms.

Daeny looked down and gasped. It was... a perfectly healthy and normal babe, with her own violet eyes but Drogo's copper skin, and, she could see, small flecks of hair black as midnight...

The doctor continued: "I'll just leave this paperwork by your bedside so you can fill them out when you're ready, and then we can issue a birth certificate. But... first, I must ask, have you thought of a name for your _daughter?_"

Daenerys looked down at the baby girl that lay snugly against her breast, and stared intently into her eyes. She then looked across at Irri, who simply shrugged. Finally, she turned back to face the doctor. "Yes," she began, firmly, "Drogana. Drogana Targaryen."

"That is a lovely name," remarked the doctor as she quickly wrote it down on the device she was carrying. She stayed a few minutes more with Daeny, making sure that she and the babe were all well and healthy, and then she excused herself politely and left.

For years afterward, whatever else happened, Daenerys Targaryen would always remember this moment as one of the most beautiful in her life, as mother and child embraced one another, and as she turned to look out of her window and beheld it all ... the colony of Autumn's Frontier, the countless Sky-People gathering about, and above them all, the brilliant and mesmerizing pillar of red light that stretched across the skies above, reaching out to the infinite stars and worlds beyond.

**FINIS**

**-0-**


	115. A Final Word From The Writer

_**A Message From The Writer...**_

My friends, it's been a long journey, and I would like to personally thank all the readers out there who were with us from start to finish. I'd also like to thank all the nice people at the "Alien Space Bats" group at alternatehistory dot com, the original home of this story, for all their ideas, feedback, and support. I encourage everyone here to go check out that website and all the cool and fun stuff going on, and to also check out this story's page over on TVTropes.

A lot of folks have been asking me about what the release schedule looks like for the sequel, so here it is below. Remember of course that this is all tentative and subject to change at the last minute, but it is my hope that I'll be able to hold to it.

_**Book2: Beautiful Horizon**_: the events on Middle Earth; coming Oct/Nov 2015.

_**Book3: [title TBD]**_: Warhammer World; published simultaneously with Book2.

_**Book4: Winter's Frontier**_: features both Avatar World, and a return to Westeros as Winter (and Chaos) arrives! Coming either Summer or Fall 2016.

Now for the fun part. Your comments and feedback are really the best reward a first time writer like myself can ask for. Therefore, now that we are finished with Book1, and before we head to Middle Earth for Book2, I would like to kindly ask all of you to please take your time to complete this questionnaire below. I feel that my writing is much, _much_ better when I can draw upon the creative ideas and constructive criticism provided by _you_, the readers, who can tell me what works and what doesn't work, and the responses I get to this questionnaire will have a marked impact on the writing of the sequel.

All responses are appreciated, and I'll see you in _Event Horizon Book2!_

* * *

**READER SURVEY**

**1\. Favorite and/or best ****_original_**** character?** Please list (in descending order) your Top 3 or 4 original characters that are either your favorite _or_ what you thought was the best and most well written character. By 'original', I mean a character who was created specifically for this story, such as either one of The Company™ or UN personnel (example: Sergeant Hawthorne), or one of the original native characters (example: Phineas Edgerton). **_Optional_**: include one or two sentences explaining what you like about this character and/or what you hope to see done with them in the sequel.

**2\. Favorite and/or best depiction of a ****_canon_**** character?** Same as above, except now choose which Top 4 canon characters did you think this story do the most justice in its depiction of. **_Optional_**: as with above, one or two sentences briefly explaining your answer.

**3\. Favorite and/or best chapter?** Choose your Top 4 favorite chapters published thus far, whether a POV chapter, a timeline, a Battle Report, or one of the Earth chapters. This is important because knowing which chapters "worked" and which didn't will help me understand better which chapter formula I should use for the next Books.

**4\. Worst / least favorite thing in general?** Choose your Top 4 _worst_ things in this entire story so far. By "worst things", I'm leaving it open-ended: it could be a chapter that was just boring or badly written, a character you dislike, an idea or concept you disagree with, or just any other issues you may have with the story in general. What really _irked_ you the most?

**5\. Favorite piece of Company™ technology?** Part of this story's theme is the merging of science and magic, but The Company™ and the UN already employs a lot of hyper-advanced 22nd century tech. What was your top one or two favorite pieces of Company™ technology, equipment, or weaponry that appeared in this Book? The HULK unit or the Wild Cat? The thaumometer or the THEL? The futuristic firearms of the UNCDF, or the far simpler guns sold to the First Army? This is a fun one because the responses I get to this question may help determine what _new_ pieces of technology we'll see in the sequels.

**6\. ****_Funniest_**** moment in this story**. Goes without saying. Don't let all the darkness and ominousness convince you that this story is anything less than a light-hearted and tongue-in-cheek parody of the source material. What made you laugh the most?

**7\. Saddest and/or most ****_dramatic_**** moment in this story**. A counterpart to the above, choose one scene you felt had the best _drama_ in this entire series.

**8\. Best ****_action_**** sequence**. Choose your favorite and/or best action sequence, with one sentence explaining why.

**9\. Any further comments, recommendations, or what would you like to see in the sequel? **On the three other worlds, and also on Westeros when we return?


End file.
